


The decoy's a damsel

by literarytrash



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis Whump, Brotherhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Protectiveness, bit of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarytrash/pseuds/literarytrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?</p><p>Set in season 2.</p><p>I do not own these characters... sadly</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so finds runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

The four musketeers sat at the table outside the garrison, their evening meal set before them. The sun was slowly setting and a red glow enveloped them from the sunset. They had been on parade for most of the day so were exhausted, yet still were in good spirits as they ate. As d’Artagnan was relaying a humorous story about Monsieur Bonaceux and a particularly nasty customer, a call interrupted them.

‘Athos,’ Captain Treville called from his office above the garrison. ‘Come, I need to speak with you. All of you.’ The men looked longingly at their meals before heading up the wooden stairs and into their Captain’s office. 

‘Captain,’ they greeted.

‘I have an important mission,’ he began. ‘You’re not going to be happy about it but the King is insisting,’ he sighed. 

‘Captain?’ Athos questioned.

‘The King wishes to deliver the defence plans in person by riding in disguise with you too Marseille,’ Treville said. ‘He has requested for you four; he is familiar with you.’

‘Captain,’ d’Artagnan interjected, ‘this is too dangerous. Is the King aware of the risks?’

‘I have told him of the risks, d’Artagnan, but he is intent to deliver the plans himself. He wishes to discuss them with the Duke on arrival.’

‘He’s mad,’ Porthos stated.

‘Indeed he is, but he is the King,’ Aramis added.

‘Aramis is right,’ Athos spoke softly. ‘We will take a longer route, take shelter in the forests.’

‘Very wise,’ Treville agreed. ‘You leave at first light.’ They all nodded before returning to their somewhat colder meals. The sun had set in their absence, but Serge had lit a candle upon their tables and was awaiting their return. The glow of the flame cast deep shadows upon their faces, their worry for the mission evident. 

‘This is madness,’ d’Artagnan began, but Athos cut him off.

‘It is the Kings wishes, decline them and you are a fool.’

‘I’m not declining them,’ he replied defensively, ‘just questioning it.’

‘That is also foolish.’

‘Well, I think we’ve deduced that young d’Artagnan is a fool,’ Aramis interjected lightly, and a ripple of laughter spread across the table. D’Artagnan, however, scowled.

‘I jest mon ami,’ Aramis said reassuringly, and he gave small smile. They stayed until Serge demanded they leave so he could go to bed, and trudged back to their lodgings to rest for the journey that awaited them.

\---

‘Ah, my loyal Musketeers,’ the King greeted jovially. ‘Are we ready to depart?’ The King stood amongst the plants in his gardens, awaiting the Musketeers arrival.

‘Yes sire,’ Treville smiled. ‘My men are honoured to accompany you, and will protect you with their lives.’

‘Wonderful, now do I look the part?’ He wore a leather coat with breeches and boots, ‘I feel quite the commoner.’ His dress was misplaced around his lavish surroundings, the plush coats of his advisors contrasting deeply with the worn leather that he wore.

‘Very good, sire,’ Aramis smiled charmingly. The King smiled back, basking in the acceptance from his musketeers. ‘Although, I would say that this would disguise your face more,’ Aramis added. He placed his hat on the Kings head, concealing his features in shadow. 

‘Very good, Aramis,’ Treville nodded. ‘I think you’re ready your majesty.’ They left Paris through the forests surrounding the palace and quickly found a sheltered route to take them to Marseille. 

‘It is so lovely to leave the palace,’ the King declared.

‘I’m sure, your majesty,’ Aramis replied.

‘Being cooped up inside the grounds all day is such a bore,’ he sulked. Aramis could hear Porthos take in a sharp breath beside him and when he turned his face was like stone. The pampered lifestyle was very far away from what Porthos was brought up in, however as Aramis gave a slight shake of the head he immediately shrank back into his saddle. To call out the king would be a foolish and dangerous act. They rode for the rest of the day, stopping only for the King to rest when he requested, until they reached an inn in a small and unassuming village. The building was worn and cramped, but they were happy for the cover.

‘I’ll get us rooms,’ Aramis said as he unmounted. The inn was mostly empty, thankfully for them, and a woman stood behind the bar. Aramis immediately smiled as he entered, catching the barmaid’s bright green eyes. She stood tall with a surprisingly immoderate dress, a corset exaggerating her assets.

‘Musketeers,’ she greeted upon seeing his doublet. ‘What do we owe the honour?’

‘The honour is all mine, mademoiselle,’ he replied with a bold stare. ‘We just require two rooms, if we may.’

‘Of course,’ a blush flushed her cheeks, ‘and dinner?’

‘In our rooms if we may. Now,’ he began, ‘we are actually accompanying the King to an undisclosed location and would appreciate if his presence could be kept quiet.’

‘Of course,’ she gushed. ‘This way then,’ she led him up the stairs to two adjoining rooms and he quickly claimed a bed. He then went to retrieve the King, they kept his hat low as he went straight into his room with Athos accompanying him. They all ate in one room, however the King went to his own to sleep, where a man would stand guard. However, Aramis was taken aside by the barmaid again.

‘You know, my silence comes at a price,’ she said with a seductive glare. ‘Come with me now, and I assure you the King and your men will be undisturbed tonight.’

‘Wait for me here, I will return,’ he ensured here before entering the King’s room where Athos stood guard.

‘I am afraid my services are required to ensure our security,’ he apologised. Athos only gave a knowing smile, whilst the King’s eyes widened upon understanding. He returned to the barmaid and followed her into her room. At the break of the morning he left the bed quietly and began preparing himself for the days ride, meeting Porthos and d’Artagnan in the room. Athos entered later with the King.

‘Good night?’ Athos asked, his lips darting upwards into a subtle smile. He just returned the small smirk, not wishing to look unprofessional in front of the King, yet he felt uneasy after the night before. It had been pleasant, but the fact it had been done to ensure the King’s safety made him feel used and taken advantage of. 

‘Well, let’s move out then,’ d’Artagnan suggested, seeing the uncertainty that spread across Aramis’ face at the mention of the previous night. 

‘Yes, lets,’ The King agreed, oblivious to the subtle glances between the four men. He quickly draped a cloak over himself and they headed to the horses, only to meet the barmaid. She said nothing, but just stared at Aramis as he passed, a look of conquering on her face. Her face remained stuck in Aramis’ mind as they continued through the forest, until d’Artagnan quickly galloped up behind them from his watch.

‘We’re being followed, three men with weapons,’ he shouted as he approached them.

‘Damn,’ Athos hissed. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive,’ d’Artagnan replied gravely. 

‘What do we do?’ the King blurted out in panic. ‘You must protect me!’

‘We will, sire,’ Aramis assured him, his voice calm despite the severity of the situation. ‘We must provide a decoy for them to follow,’ he stated.

‘Aramis-‘ Porthos began to object, but Aramis simply talked over him.

‘No, Porthos, I will ride north and distract them, you go south to keep cover and then head east to Marseille.’

‘Aramis, this is a risk to you,’ Athos said coolly, but his eyes revealed the worry he felt. ‘At least let one of us join you.’

‘No, if they do not fall for it his majesty will need all of you too protect him.’ Silence followed his reply, as they all realised Aramis’ point was valid.

‘Well,’ the King declared suddenly, ‘that sounds like a plan. I am grateful for your loyalty,’ the King nodded towards Aramis.

‘It is an honour, sire.’ Aramis replied with a bow. ‘I will wait for them to catch up and then move, hopefully I shall meet you in Marseille this evening.’

‘Be careful,’ Porthos said, his hand resting on Aramis’ shoulder.

‘I will mon ami,’ he replied, his eyes wide and earnest. With that, they began riding south and Aramis waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first installment, don't worry your Aramis whump will come in the next chapter! Feel free to leave suggestions and comments!


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so finds runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

Aramis galloped into the woods, leading the group of men away from his fellow musketeers and the King and into a chase. He spurred on his horse, drawing them further and further away until the trees began to thin and he found a road. He cursed quietly; the road was long and had little to no cover. However, he carried on down it, with the only other option retreating back into the woods and the arms of his pursuers. He heard the group before he saw them. The footfall of the horses was heavy, but what alerted him was the shouts of glee upon seeing his form in the distance. Aramis was unnerved by the joyful shouts as they made him feel like prey, and the fact that he was completely outnumbered by the three horses and riders behind him didn’t help his mood much either. 

He was moderately confident that he could out ride them, having built up a gap through the forest. But what he didn’t expect was another convoy of three riders to step out in front of him at the end of the road, with their pistols drawn and pointed right at him. On instinct the reached to draw his own but he was stopped by a gunshot that only just missed him. However, it did hit his horse and with a pained whinny she went down, throwing Aramis off where he landed heavily. He managed not to break or dislocate anything, but the impact left him winded and his back in agony from landing harshly on his pistol.

‘Musketeer!’ a voice called. The three men who had blocked his exit trotted up surrounded him, pistols aimed at his crumpled body. ‘Get up, now!’ a bearded man demanded. He, along with the rest of the group, looked scruffy and dirty, as if they had been riding for a while. But they all shared the look of glee in their eyes that shone through the dirt; they had caught him. The group who had been following him joined their companions and jumped down to surround him. They too drew their pistols and aimed down at him.

‘Where are the rest of you eh?’ a man asked, a smirk on his face. ‘I’m sure there was at least five of you. And yet here you are, alone.’ Aramis just groaned in response, his body burning from his hard impact with the compact earth. 

‘Up,’ the bearded man repeated. As Aramis began heaving himself up despite the fire in his back, his arms were roughly grabbed by another two men, pulling him the rest of the way. His body protested and he shut his eyes with a hiss.

‘That hurt?’ the bearded man asked. With a smile he roughly punched him in the stomach, and Aramis felt his already bruised ribs weaken. ‘Good. Now remove your weapons.'

‘May I ask your name first, Monsieur?’ Aramis asked through gritted teeth. But he was only greeted with another vicious hit, but this time to the face. 

‘No,’ was the only reply. His weapons were stripped from him along with his leather uniform, leaving him in a thin shirt and breeches. 

‘But yours, now that’s something I’d like to know,’ the bearded man said, caressing his chin with the tip of his pistol. Aramis just stayed silent. ‘Ah, now you’ll shut up, I see. Tie him,’ he commanded. Aramis’ arms were yanked roughly behind his back and bound with rope. He begin to subtly wriggle his hands, trying to loosen the bonds, but upon seeing the slight movement someone shoved him violently, a dark look of warning brewing in their dark eyes.

‘Don’t do that,’ the bearded man said, aiming the pistol at his heart. ‘If you do that, then I’m just going to have to knock you out for the journey. Do you want that?’ he asked. 

‘I don’t know, do I?’ Aramis replied, locking eye contact with his captor. He had aimed to threaten him with the comment, but he cursed his cheek as the man just laughed before he brought the butt of his pistol down on Aramis’ head and everything went dark. 

When he woke he found himself in a dark room tied to a chair. He tested his bonds but found his legs and arms tied tightly to the arms rests and legs of the chair. His back was in agony from being manhandled whilst unconscious and his head was pounding from the hit and resulting concussion. He looked up as the door in front of him swung open, letting in a ray of light that silhouetted a man leaning against the door frame. 

‘I did warn you,’ he said, Aramis heard the smirk in his voice. 

‘Well, technically I didn’t try to untie myself again so your attack was unwarranted,’ Aramis retorted, but his reply was slurred with the concussion from the harsh hit. 

‘You annoyed me,’ he stated. ‘Don’t question me again, understand?’

‘Why?’ Aramis asked, he couldn’t help himself. 

‘Oh, we’ve got a clever one,’ he said with a laugh. But the laugh was cold and emotionless. He approached the chair and suddenly pulled Aramis’ head back harshly with his hair.

‘You do that again and I will hurt you, do you understand?’

‘Ugh,’ Aramis groaned, the hold on his head making the headache pound harder. The man took the groan as an affirmative and released his hold. 

‘Good, let’s get down to business. We had knowledge that you were transporting a message regarding the French defense plans, and yet we go and find you escorting the king himself. Now, why would that be?’ He spoke in a hushed tone, almost gentle if it weren’t for the hardness in his eyes. 

‘No idea,’ he replied nonchalantly. This was met by harsh punches to his face and torso.

‘I’m not going to ask again,’ his interrogator growled. 

‘Then don’t,’ Aramis retorted with a smug grin.

‘Ok, this has gone too far,’ the man breathed, rubbing his face with his hands. ‘I didn’t want to do this, but you gave me no choice. Bear! Get in here.’ A man twice Aramis’ size and a messy tangle of hair answered the call, he cracked his knuckles as he entered the room, but the action did not deter Aramis and his concussed brain from his witty repertoire.

'Ah, Bear, finally a name! Mine’s Butterfly,’ he grinned. But Bear clearly wasn’t amused, he shoved Aramis, hard, and his chair fell back onto the ground and left him winded yet again. He didn’t speak as he lay harsh kicks on him, further bruising his body and face and audibly cracking his ribs. Aramis just released grunts and whines, but did not allow himself to cry out. When he was finished he stood silently by the door, allowing the first man to take over. He righted the chair, and Aramis blew his hair out his face. 

‘So, what are you?’ Aramis wheezed. ‘A weasel?’

‘No,’ the man spat. ‘You can call me Wolf.’

‘Ah, wonderful, pleasure to meet you.’ He gritted his teeth as he moved himself into a more comfortable position, his body screaming. 

‘Now, Butterfly, let’s try a different question. Where is the letter you were meant to be transporting?’

‘What letter?’ Aramis replied. He prayed his facade was worth it, that they had managed to get the King to safety, as a slap whipped across his face. Wolf groaned in aggravation, massaging his head with his hands, eyes wide and crazy. 

‘Just tell me, Musketeer!’ he screamed suddenly. His face was so close to Aramis’ that the putrid smell of his breath invaded his senses. ‘Tell me!’ spit flew from his mouth and onto Aramis’ face in the man’s psychotic desperation. But Aramis held his ground.

‘No.’

‘Bear, light a fire,’ Wolf said slowly and quietly before stalking out the room. 

‘You’re in for it now, you idiot,’ Bear said, speaking for the first time. He bustled around Aramis, building and lighting a fire in the corner of the room, before beginning to heat the tip of a blade on the flames. With a sudden realization Aramis’ heart sunk; he was in a whole lot of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the second part, and the Aramis whump as promised! I kind of want to explore Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan's point of view in the next chapter, feel free again to leave comments and suggestions. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I plan to update every other day x


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so finds runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last chapter, here is the next! Hope you enjoy it, and leave comments and suggestions if you want!

‘Are we there yet?’ the King asked for the hundredth time. Upon splitting up with Aramis on the man’s insistence, the King had been constantly whining of his fatigue and peril as they made their way to the safety of Marseille.

‘Nearly, sire,’ Athos replied, his composure was thinning and the strain was evident in his voice. ‘Just another hour I would say.’

‘And you’re sure there is no one tailing us,’ he confirmed nervously. ‘They all followed your man Artemis.’

‘Yes sire,’ d’Artagnan said with a sigh. ‘I have been checking every mile or so, and it seems they followed Aramis.’

‘Ah, Aramis, that’s it,’ he mused. ‘What a brave soul, riding on alone.’

‘He is the best,’ Pothos said sharply.

‘I’m sure,’ he replied. ‘Now Athos, are we there yet?’ 

‘Not long, sire,’ he repeated with pursed lips. They rode along for another hour until the gates of Marseille greeted them. They handed over their horses and escorted the King to the Duke of Marseille’s estate where they were given a rooms to rest, however they stayed by the King’s side. But one thought was at the front of all their minds. 

‘Aramis isn’t here yet,’ Porthos whispered to Athos, as they stood by the dining hall as the King and Duke shared dinner. His thoughts had been filled with his absent brother since they had arrived in Marseille.

‘I’m aware,’ Athos replied, his face grim at the realisation. 

‘Maybe he’s just late,’ d’Artagnan offered. ‘It could have taken him a while to lose the group following us.’

‘Maybe,’ Porthos agreed, ‘but maybe not.’ They all fell silent on that thought, thinking of their brother and the danger he could potentially be in at that moment.

‘I’ll give him until dawn and then appeal to the King,’ Athos said grimly, breaking the silence.

\---

Aramis was left alone in the room, the fire and blade taunting him with his fate from the corner of his eye. The embers shone through the darkness, like a fraudulent beacon of hope, whilst the blazing metal seemed to hum with a heat that made his brow sweat with the thought. It felt like an eternity before the door swung open again, and Wolf stood before him with Bear lurking in the shadows. 

‘So, have you decided to answer our questions yet?’ Wolf smirked. ‘Or am I going to have to use that?’ he motioned to the blaze with his head. Aramis just stared past him, despite the pain that laced his body he refused acknowledge the question or the men standing before him.

‘Fine,’ Wolf breathed. He slowly walked towards the fire, dragging out the time as if to taunt the man before him. Aramis was slack in his chair, pain evident in the lines that had invaded his face, but his eyes were hard and determined. He lifted the blade out of the flames and held it steady in his hands as it seemed to sing with the heat that was coursing through it.

‘Bear,’ he ordered, ‘hold him.’ Aramis was restrained violently by the bulky man, his head held firmly and back pressed back into the chair. Wolf approached him and lifted his shirt, let light settle on the richly coloured bruises that littered his torso. He gave a small whistle, raising an eyebrow. ‘You can stop this, you know. All you have to do is tell me what was in the letters,’ he whispered in the man’s ear, pressing himself close to him. 

‘Just do it, Wolf!’ Bear’s voice was laced with impatience, but he smiled, as if eager. Wolf only smiled, before laying the burning blade flat against Aramis’ stomach. His breath left him as the heat burned at his skin, choking on the cry that rose in his throat as he clawed at the arms of the chair. As the blade was reapplied he couldn’t quite catch his cries. The pain made his brain foggy, his ribs seemed to buckle under the pressure of the blade being pressed into them and his ears began to ring. They spoke to him but all he could see was their lips moving wordlessly until the pain became too much and blackness began to spread across his vision. 

\---

‘Is he awake?’ a voice broke through the haze that clouded Aramis’ mind, his body ached but his torso burned like a fire. He suddenly remembered where he was, what had happened. However, he felt a solid surface beneath him; he was on a table. His wrists felt raw but unrestrained along with his ankles. 

‘No. not yet. But be patient.’ He cracked open an eye to find himself in a brighter room with an unfamiliar face beside him, his ribs were wrapped in bandages so he guessed a medic of some kind and was glad for his presence. He quickly closed them, as too keep up the facade of being unconscious, and assessed his surroundings. So far he could see one man, but he could hear two breathing. He risked another peek and saw another standing by the door, a musket in his hand, but no others. His heart leaped with hope; he had a chance of escaping if he was only against two. He tried to move quietly to assess his injuries, he had broken some ribs and had some serious burns but he felt like he could fight if he needed too. 

‘How long is he going to take, Wolf wants him prepared for when he gets back.’ That settled it for Aramis, he had to escape or risk being reunited with Wolf. He peeked to see the guard at the door turn away, and took his chance. He kicked out at the healer, sending him flying into the wall and quickly grabbed him using him as a shield, before taking a knife and pointing it at the guard. 

‘Give me the pistol,’ he demanded, holding the knife to the man’s throat. The guard stared at him with wide eyes, he was young, innocent, inexperienced in the violence he was caught up in. ‘Now, boy!’ Aramis shouted, and shakily the boy held out his musket. Aramis threw the medic to the side before, aiming the musket at the boy. ‘Get me out.’

‘O-okay,’ the boy stuttered.

‘Listen, I won’t kill if you get me out.’ Aramis softened his voice and the boy seemed to relax a bit, he nodded and led Aramis out. They entered corridor, it had lavish walls, an estate, but they were worn and dusty as though they had been neglected for a long time. The boy crept ahead of him. They slowed upon approaching a door frame, hearing the voices of more men playing cards. He aimed the pistol at the boys head, a silent threat. However, what he didn’t expect was a pistol cocking behind him - the medic must have come round!. He quickly hit out, knocking the man behind him unconscious but attracting the attention of the rest of the men. They rounded the corner and headed straight for him. He quickly aimed and shot two down, but suddenly there was three on top of him and the pistol was ripped from his grasp. He fought for what felt like hours until his wounds burned with such ferocity he couldn’t throw another punch and he was pinned down by a man he suddenly recognised as Bear.

‘Oh, just wait until Wolf gets back,’ Bear crooned in his ear. Aramis groaned, still straining against the brutal hold on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be revisiting Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan in the next chapter, so stay tuned!


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 4! Thank you so much for following the story so far, your comments have been so nice, I hope you enjoy!

‘My Lord,’ Athos began, approaching the King as he was escorted to breakfast.

‘Yes, Athos?’ he answered, not expecting the musketeer to have addressed him.

‘My Lord, Aramis is yet to return and we are beginning to fear the worst for him,’ he stated.

‘Ah, I see.’ His face was grim and he looked towards Porthos and d’Artagnan who were waiting nervously to the side. 

‘We were hoping maybe Porthos and I could ride out after him, of course d’Artagnan would stay here to ensure your safety alongside the Duke’s men. But if you do not-’

‘Please, Athos, go.’ The King looked somewhat sulky at the idea of two of his musketeers abandoning him, but he sighed. ‘He sacrificed himself to ensure my safety. Besides he is a king’s musketeer, and I will not be said to not look out for my own men.’ 

‘Thank you, sire!’ Athos bowed and shared the good news. He clasped his hand on Porthos back and the two men headed to their horses and immediately began saddling up, as the Duke and King assembled to see them off. They were given rations and medical supplies to prepare for whatever might face them, which they received gratefully, and were told to return to the estate when finished as they would need to escort his highness back to Paris.

‘Athos,’ the King called as they prepared to depart, ‘bring him home.’ He was surprised by the sudden sincerity that graced the King’s features, however nodded ferociously at him. The King smiled with confidence before beckoning d’Artagnan to follow him into the lavish house. They rode for an hour or so until they reached the point at which they had split with Aramis the previous day, and then traced his path through the forest that he had disappeared into. The heavy hoofs of Aramis’ mare created a clear path, however, the amount of horses evident in the chasing parties trail was extremely disconcerting to both Athos and Porthos. 

‘He was outnumbered,’ Porthos said as they stopped to examine the trail. Athos only grunted a reply before surging on with the search, when they reached the long road they rode until a dried pool of blood pulled them up short. Athos jumped down from his horse and probed it too find it bone dry from the sun that shone down.

‘He’s long gone,’ he mumbled.

‘That’s if the blood is his,’ Porthos interjected, but his voice lacked hope. They both knew deep down that the blood was Aramis’ and their hearts sunk. However, they wordlessly mounted their horses and rode on, an unspoken agreement to bring Aramis back no matter what clear between them. 

\---

Aramis felt as if his chest were going to burst as Bear remained sat on top of him. He feared the lung would be punctured by the pressure of his cracked ribs, but he had not yet tasted blood in his mouth, giving him some hope for his slowly deteriorating health. His stoic silence had been broken as he spat out curses in French and Spanish to the men that surrounded him, but they had only laughed as he struggles against the overbearing weight. 

‘You better keep that voice for when Wolf gets back,’ they goaded. 

‘Go to hell!’ he growled back venomously. However, at the sound of a door slamming the riotous atmosphere immediately calmed as Wolf stalked inside. He saw Aramis on the ground and smiled, however it faltered when he saw the bodies of his men, Aramis’ bullets still lodged in their flesh. 

‘You did this all by yourself,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Impressive, I must say.’ He trailed his foot along Aramis’ sensitive skin, smirking as he squirmed under his touch.

‘Wolf,’ a man said approaching him slowly. ‘We don’t know what happened he just came out of nowhere.’ Wolf just looked at him, his face unreadable.

‘How many dead?’ he asked slowly.

‘Dog and Eagle,’ he answered. ‘Shot by the musketeer scum.’ He stood nervously, and was relieved when Wolf gave him a curt smile.

‘No matter,’ was the cold reply. ‘Just get him out.’ Aramis was dragged out of the room and back into his dark prison. He kicked out as they retied him to the chair, making contact with the two men as blood bloomed on their faces. 

‘And to think,’ Wolf said, slowly unwrapping his bandages. ‘I had them tend to your wounds.’

‘How noble of you,’ Aramis said with a small sarcastic bow, still struggling against the men.

‘Sit still,’ Wolf snarled as he entered after the men, ‘Aramis.’ Aramis’ eyes were wide as the man addressed him with his name.

‘Pardon?’ he croaked.

‘The inn you passed through seemed to remember you, and your band of Musketeers. A certain barmaid especially,’ he added with a wink. Aramis remembered the attractive innkeeper from their journey, and the night he had spent with her. A feeling of dread settled upon him; he knew something felt wrong about her. ‘She had a lot to say about you, and the King.’

‘What did she say?’ he asked desperately.

‘Patience,’ Wolf tutted. ‘She told me of your night together, how you gave yourself to her like an animal. Just like you did the Queen,’ he growled. Aramis tensed at the last statement, the shock of his knowledge leaving him breathless. 

‘Lies,’ he grimaced. ‘Who informed you of these lies?’

‘Did it feel good, to be used as you were, you didn’t even manage to protect the King,’ he snarled, his face inches from Aramis’ now.

‘Why are you doing this? Who sent you?’ Aramis shouted, rage building inside him now, but his anger exhausted him. Wolf said nothing, but he extracted a Spanish coin from a pocket and twirled it between his fingers. 

‘The Spanish,’ Aramis breathed. ‘How did they know we would be travelling through here? Who informed you?’ His eyes widened as he came to a grave conclusion, breath stuttering from the bruising on his ribs. ‘A Spanish spy in the palace.’

‘You are a terribly intelligent man, monsieur Aramis. And of course, correct.’

‘Who is the spy?’ he demanded breathlessly. ‘Tell me!’

‘Quiet,’ he shouted. ‘How dare you demand anything from me? You are in no position to bargain, musketeer.’

‘Surely, you plan to kill me, monsieur. There is nothing to gain from keeping this information from me, please, humor me.’ Aramis countered. Wolf looked at him curiously for a minute, the man’s determination was admirable. He leaned in close to his ear.

‘His name is….. Rochefort.’

Aramis just stared at him with wide eyes, before a scuffling sounded from behind the door and a large figure burst into the room.

\---

Athos and Porthos had followed the blood splatters with bated breath, awaiting Aramis’ dead eyes and broken body around every dusty corner. But the blood trail had led them only so far before they picked up another trail, a far more dangerous one.

‘There has to be at least six horses on this trail,’ Athos stated, his eyes thin in thought. ‘D’Artagnan only indicated three men following us.’

‘Dammit, he was overpowered by six men?’ Porthos growled, the worry for his brother growing with every step.

‘Six horses, Porthos, not six men,’ Athos replied, trying to calm the man’s nerves. However, he too was thinking the same thing and filled with fear at the suggestion. They followed the horse’s trial until they reached an old house, it was big but the walls were peeling and slowly being infested by vines of thick weeds. It reminded Athos of his own estate; abandoned in the country. However, at the sight of two men guarding a large front door they slowed and dismounted, tying their horses a safe distance away from the house. They scouted the house and only found one more entrance, a small side door, but it was unfortunately locked.

‘We could break in?’ Pothos suggested, speaking quietly.

‘And risk attracting attention with the noise?’ Athos countered. ‘It’s too risky if Aramis is inside.’

‘Then we take the men on the front door quickly and quietly,’ Porthos decided, cracking his knuckles in preparation as they made their way to the front of the house.  
‘Porthos, if you find Aramis you take him and get out, ok?’ Athos said, his eyes not leaving the two men. They were both anxious at what state their brother awaited them, and if he even awaited them at all. However, Porthos scoffed at his request.

‘We leave together or not at all,’ he stated. ‘Aramis would never forgive himself if you got left behind, and then we’d have to stage another rescue attempt, to tell you the truth, one damsel is enough for me today.’

‘Quite right,’ Athos replied with a smirk. ‘But I wouldn’t call Aramis a damsel if I were you, he’d be terribly offended.’

‘He regards his hair higher than any damsel I’ve met in my life,’ Porthos grunted, and suddenly a little tension was levitated and they found themselves ready to attack. They approached the men from behind and silenced them quickly before heading into the house, their path was surprisingly empty except for a large man, even against Porthos’ standards, sitting on a table and shuffling a pack of cards. His face was covered by a mass of tangled hair, allowing them to approach slowly and quietly without them noticing, slowly they placed a pistol to the back of his head and cocked the trigger with a resounding click, and the man froze before slowly bringing his arms up.

‘Who dares threaten me?’ his voice rumbled menacingly. 

‘Take us to your captured Musketeer or I shall shoot you where you sit,’ Athos replied vehemently. At the man’s silence he dug the pistol harshly into his back, and he quickly began standing up.

‘Move,’ Porthos growled, training a second pistol on him where he could see. He led them down to a dark passage without any windows to a black door, behind it there was a muffled voice. 

‘He’s in here,’ the man said gruffly, and before he could carry on Porthos has knocked him out with the butt of his pistol.

‘On three,’ Athos said, motioning to the door with his eyes and preparing his sword and pistol for a fight. ‘One, two, three!’ 

On the count Porthos rammed into the door and it splintered under the force, caving in quickly. He scanned the room to see Aramis tied to a chair, beaten and bloody with a man stood smugly before him. The man drew his pistol however it was quickly knocked out his hand by Porthos with his sword. They went on to duel viciously, the sight of Aramis enough to anger Porthos into a furious rage. However, whilst the group had been a formidable force as a six-piece, Wolf now remained the only member and was wilting under the pressure of the enraged musketeer. He feel backwards and tripped into the embers of the fire and cried out from the burning that spread up his legs. Aramis couldn’t help but smile at the irony of his pain as his own burns took vengeance from the torturers suffering. Porthos wasted no time and effectively ended his life with a swift but powerful stab to his abdomen, leaving him to bleed out upon the embers as the broad man stood intimidatingly above him. Porthos’ breathing was heavy as the adrenaline of the fight left him, but he still stood to make sure of the man’s death, as to make sure his injured brother was avenged. 

‘Aramis,’ Athos called, seeing the threat diffused and the path to Aramis’ side clear. The man looked up at him with glassy eyes, there was crusted blood on his head and matted into his hair along with bruising along his jaw and eyes. However, that was not the worst of it. He sat shirtless, exposing the bruises and burns he had received to his torso, and the shadows that filled the room made them seem deep and harsh. ‘Sit still and let me look at you,’ he said softly.

‘Is he ok?’ Porthos said gruffly, having disposed of the men’s bodies, but he growled upon seeing the state of this brother. ‘If only I could kill ‘em again.’ His voice was laced with anger but his touch was soft as he slowly began running his hand through Aramis’ hair, hoping to comfort his wounded friend. 

‘P’rthos,’ Aramis slurred, he desperately tried to reach out to his brother but his wrists were still secured. Porthos quickly untied them and guided his friend’s hands into his own, rubbing them to regulate the circulation and relax the tenseness he could feel in the man’s body. 

‘I’m here, Aramis. We’re both here, you’re ok,’ he replied soothingly. 

‘’We need to get him back to Marseille,’ Athos murmured. ‘He seems passable to ride, in fact the wounds seem almost treated.’

‘A medic of some kind saw to them,’ Aramis supplied from the chair, his voice hoarse. 

‘I see,’ Athos nodded. ‘Now, be truthful with me, are you confident to ride?’

‘Of course,’ he grunted back, however Porthos looked upon him with uncertainty. His chest seemed to bloom with further the bruises as the seconds passed, and his hair was now beginning to stick to his pale and sweaty forehead. Upon further inspection he found a fever, it was weak but not to be overlooked. 

‘He’ll ride with me,’ Porthos stated. ‘We can use his horse for supplies.’

‘No it will slow us dow-‘

‘Of course,’ Athos said, cutting Aramis off. ‘Speaking of supplies, we must fetch the medical kit and ensure all his wounds are tended.’

‘They have been tended to I’m fi-‘

‘I’ll move him into a bedroom, lay him down.’ Porthos continued, again interrupting Aramis. ‘There’ll be better light and a flatter surface to work on.’

‘I am here you know!’ Aramis burst out. But the sudden action left him light headed and dizzy, and he said no more as Porthos supported him out the dark room and through the halls. They reached a large bedroom with a large window that looked upon the estates grounds, and a large bed that seemed to beckon Aramis’ with every heavy step he took. Porthos seemed to deem the room respectable as he led Aramis into it and onto the bed.

‘Come on Aramis, lie down now my friend,’ he said comfortingly. The bed dipped with his weight as he sat beside the injured man, creating a pillow of safety. He absentmindedly stroked the younger man’s hair out of his eyes, the rise and fall of their chests synced with each motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to reunite them all, it seems as if Aramis is safe for now. Feel free again to leave comments and suggestions, there is still more to come!


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload, it been a bit hectic at the moment! Anyway, here you go, it's a little bit short but hopefully you like it! Thank you so much for reading and please comment any suggestions or thoughts. Thank you!

Aramis woke up in a cocoon of warmth that seemed to suffocate him. Slowly he began to remember what had happened, his entrapment, and he jerked upwards in panic. As he was held back by two pairs of strong arms he realised the softness of a bed underneath him, and the surroundings of a bedroom.

‘Aramis, calm down!’ Porthos’ voice suddenly filled his ears. ‘You’re ok, it’s finished.’ The familiar face filled his sight, and he fell lax into his arms with relief. He vaguely began to recognise the room now, the large window being the most notable of features However, his brain remained foggy and disjointed. Furthermore, his skin felt itchy and irritated, but as he went to investigate his hands were drawn away by another’s.

‘I only just bandaged you some hours ago, Aramis.’ Athos said, with a stern look. However, it softened as confusion dawned upon Aramis’ bruised features. ‘You’re still fighting a mild fever, but the wounds are clean and dealt with. Just relax, we will leave for Marseille at sunrise.’ However, Aramis still looked distressed, mouth opening and closing desperately as if he was trying to speak but couldn’t.

‘Porthos, fetch him some water,’ Athos ordered, sensing the problem. Aramis drained the cup, yet he still gasped like a fish out of water. ‘Calm my brother, you mustn’t make yourself sick,’ Athos said slowly, making sure Aramis understood. But Aramis continued to struggle, clasping onto Athos’ arms with a vice like grip, he looked the man in the eyes before speaking. 

‘It was Rochefort,’ he croaked into the silence of the room.

‘What,’ Porthos shouted, outraged. ‘He was here?’

‘No, but he paid the men to come after the King.’

‘I see,’ Athos said calmly, Porthos however turned his outraged look upon him.

‘You see? We have to do something about this, he had Aramis tortured.’

‘I know, my friend,’ he said, the calm still spread over his words like butter. ‘But he is a close friend of the King, and therefore untouchable without solid evidence.’

‘This is utter rubbish,’ Porthos growled, is hand curling protectively in Aramis’ hair.

‘Calm Porthos,’ the man muttered, wincing from his vice like grip. ‘We will deal with him, and he will be brought to justice, but for now we must fix the situation we are in now, for I fear d’Artagnan remains alone with the King due to his absence.’

‘Indeed, he does,’ Athos replied with a smile at Aramis worry for their missing brother. ‘We mustn’t subject him to the King’s company for any longer, the poor boy.’ Aramis huffed out a laugh, but continued to look troubled by something, his eyes still wide from fever and shock. It wasn’t for many hours until he finally spoke up. His voice was quiet, but remained a shock to his on looking brother who believed him to be asleep, through the silence that now coated the room.

‘Thank you,’ Aramis croaked. ‘I was afraid I may not escape this one.’ He grinned weakly, but both Athos and Porthos could see the darkness that still lay upon his features, the fear of dying. 

‘There is no need for thanks, Aramis, we are brothers,’ Athos said in seriousness. The room was thick with a solemn tension in which they men all thanked God for the others safety, however Porthos suddenly grinned.

‘I mean we had to rescue our damsel in distress, didn’t we Athos?’ His tone was teasing, and even Athos couldn’t keep his scowl from transforming into a wryly grin. 

‘A damsel?!’ Aramis burst out. ‘I think not gentlemen, if I am to be called anything it is to be a hero, I did lead the bandits away from you.’ His face was flushed red with embarrassment and fever.

‘Of course,’ Porthos grinned. ‘Now rest our fearless war hero.’

Aramis was still mumbling under his breath as he lay back down on the bed and curled into Porthos side savouring the warmth of his friend. However, his head snapped up at the sound of floorboards creaking outside the room. Porthos quickly calmed him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and drew his sword with the other. Athos, having done the same, moved slowly and quietly towards the door. However, a voice ringing out stilled him in his tracks. 

‘Athos, Porthos, Aramis?’

‘In here!’ Athos greeted Treville’s voice with the rarest of smiles, and both Porthos and Aramis relaxed back into each other. The door was opened and their Captain stood there in all his glory, with another two musketeers flanking each side. The look of relief upon finding them was quickly wiped from Treville’s worn features, the hardship of a sudden and rash ride was evident on all their faces. Dirt was speckled over their uniform, and dark shadows ringed their eyes. 

‘The Kings sent word with the Duke’s messenger after growing bored in Marseille,’ he supplied, upon finding them politely surprised. ‘Aramis son, are you well?’

‘They are but scratches, Captain,’ Aramis replied, waving off the hand to help him sit up. But Treville noticed the pain that lined his musketeers face, and heave him upright anyway. 

‘The truth please, Athos.’

‘His ribs are bruised and he has been beaten, but I am most worried about his burns.’

‘Burns?’

‘Please, Captain, they were seen to. I am feeling quite well,’ Aramis interjected. But Treville just frowned and placed a hand on his forehand.

‘You’re warm,’ he stated. ‘And who saw to your injuries.’

‘They did, a medic of some kind. They seemed to need me alive.’ There was a thick silence after that, in which they all considered his statement. 

‘Are you in a fit state to ride, we need to go to Marseille. You can rest further, and then we can escort the King home.’ Treville looked guilty for asking so much of him, but Aramis agreed immediately, stating he felt better already. He was supported to the horses, however held Athos back, seeking privacy for them to speak.

‘He knew, Athos,’ Aramis whispered desperately. ‘He knew about the Queen.’ Athos’ eyes widened.

‘Please tell me you said nothing,’ he replied quickly.

‘Of course not, I am not foolish,’ Aramis replied. ‘But if they knew, that means Rochefort may know.’ Their silence was broken by the calls of their fellow Musketeers, but they both shared one last glance before they joined them. Aramis was loaded onto Porthos’ horse and he leaned heavily back onto his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff between the boys and Treville, we'll check in with d'Artagnan in the next chapter! Please comment!


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 is finally here! I am so sorry it took so long, I hit a bit of writers block, and also have had a very busy house this last two weeks so have found barely any time to write. I am a bit unsure on this chapter but I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave comments and suggestions, they make me extremely happy when you do!

‘D’Artagnan,’ the King called for what felt like the hundredth time, ‘when will your fellow musketeers return; I wish to return to Paris!’

‘Your Majesty it could be hours or even days,’ d’Artagnan sighed. He too was wishing for their swift return for the King had grown bored quickly and was desperate to return to the palace, as he had been telling him for the last day. However, the idyllic landscapes of Marseilles had mesmerised d’Artagnan, reminding him fondly of the farmland of Gascony. 

‘My message was sent back to Paris yesterday, surely some word must have been received,’ he whined. ‘Waiting, is so terribly boring.’

‘Treville will send word,’ d’Artagnan assured him, but it was more for his own benefit. Suddenly, a large commotion began by the doors as they swung open. D’Artagnan nearly whooped aloud in delight as Athos, Porthos, Treville and another two musketeers strode in, however the sight of Aramis leaning heavily upon them quickly sobered him, and he reached them in three large strides.

‘Are you all well?’ he asked brashly before cupping his friends face in his hands. ‘Aramis, what have they done to you.’

‘We are all fine,’ he groaned from his friends hold. However, if he was being truthful the journey had exhausted him. The ground was bumpy and uneven, leaving his injuries irritated and sore. Porthos had tried to make the journey as comfortable as possible, however there is so only so much you can do on horseback. 

‘Do not lie to me,’ d’Artagnan admonished with a scowl. 

‘I’m not lying I just-‘

‘Speak the truth please, Aramis are you harmed?’ His face was sheepish as he looked up to see the King standing beside d’Artagnan. He felt himself be lowered slowly as those holding him and around him bowed in the King’s presence. 

‘Sire, I am harmed yes, but recovering well I assure you.’

‘Sire,’ Treville interjected. ‘If we may stay and ensure he is truly recovered for a few days we would be extremely grateful.’

‘If we must, but I’ll tell you I am growing terribly bored of this place,’ he replied with a huff. However, he quickly demanded the Duke’s men to prepare a room and fetch a physician for Aramis, escorting his musketeer personally. Aramis was half supported, half guided through the fine corridors and given a bed similar to the one he had been placed on less than a day ago. However, he found himself alone in a room with the King, the silence was thick before he spoke in a voice smaller than Aramis had ever heard before.

‘I shouldn’t have demanded you all accompany me, I feel I am in more danger than good here,’ he said.

‘If you felt it necessary sire, it was worth the risk,’ Aramis replied. His voice was tired, but he also spoke quietly in surprise of the King’s sincerity. He suddenly felt himself fill with guilt, what happened between him and the Queen laying heavy on his conscience. But the guilt quickly led to fear as he remembered that Wolf had spoken of it, and if Wolf knew maybe Rochefort knew. But the King’s snapping reply jolted him out of his thoughts.

‘If you’re simply telling me what you assume I want to hear, stop.’

‘I assure you there is no threat to you whilst we are here to protect you, sire.’

‘You are injured, how I am I supposed to be protected like that.’

‘I am nearly recovered, a good night’s rest and we can leave for Paris,’ he offered with a reassuring smile.

‘Of course, now where is that physician,’ he flustered. ‘He mustn’t refuse the King.’ With that he quickly left Aramis alone. He lay in silence for a while processing all the King had said to him, and all that had happened. His wounds were sore, however he was informed by the physician that the fever had broken and his brain was beginning to clear the feverish cloud that had formed over his senses. With that he fell asleep with Porthos stationed at the end of his bed, comforted and safe for the moment. 

\---

Rochefort sat in the Louvre, awaiting the news from his informants from the road. The moment he heard word that the King’s journey had been intercepted and the musketeers disposed of, he would send his red guards to execute a daring rescue mission. However, hours had passed and he still remained sat in a velvet stool at the ornate table without news. The sun was slowly rising and the rays shone through the fine stain glass windows that covered the walls of the room, illuminating the floor in intricate patterns. Suddenly, the patterns became distorted as the door burst open and a dishevelled man entered. 

‘Where have you been?’ Rochefort barked. He stood quickly and stroke angrily over to the new arrival.

‘I’m sorry sir, I had to take a longer route and stay hidden.’ He gasped the words out, but the words filled Rochefort with suspicion then dread.

‘Stay hidden?’ he asked through gritted teeth. 

‘The King is safe in Marseille, along with the rest of the Musketeers, as well as Captain Treville.’ He spoke slowly, as if to try and soften the bad news. 

‘How could they be?’ he slammed his fist down on the table. ‘I made sure that they were to be killed, how did Wolf fail me?’

‘Wolf is dead, they are all dead.’

‘Of course,’ he breathed. ‘Damn those musketeers!’

‘They did capture one though, I saw them rescuing him from the house.’ He added, hoping to save himself with this one positive.

‘Who?’ Rochefort hissed.

‘I believe it was the musketeer Aramis,’ he continued. ‘I saw him and he seemed to have many grievous injuries, but I hear he is recovering in Marseille.’

‘I see,’ Rochefort replied slowly. ‘Do you know when they return?’

‘No, but I assume it would be soon, minimise the threat of the King’s life,’ the man said. ‘But he is now accompanied by three additional men, an attack would be difficult.’

‘A second attack is out of the question, we must simply wait until they return,’ Rochefort scowled. ‘But will they return so soon, with Aramis injured?’

‘I don’t know, I am sorry,’ the man apologised. ‘But I must leave, I cannot be seen here much longer.’ He looked skittishly around him, the secrecy of the whole operation leaving him nervous.

‘Of course,’ Rochefort said, looking at him with a wide smile. But there was something sinister in his eyes and he watched the man turn to leave. As he opened the door a shadow stood before him and before he knew it his throat was slit and his body disposed of. ‘We must leave no loose ends,’ he whispered, returning to the papers on his desk.

His mind wandered to the musketeers, and he smiled at the thought of Aramis’ pain. He knew that he had slept with the Queen, the looks they shared told him that alone, and his heart seared in painful jealousy. He had nearly broken down and wept when it had been confirmed by an informant who had visited the monastery. Many a time he had thought of disposing of the King, allowing himself opportunity, but he had never been able too. Yet, he was unaware of the secret the musketeers knew about him, the information Wolf had carelessly shared of his loyalty to Spain, and he carried on in blissful ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we are, writing Rochefort's point of view was actually really interesting and I will be sure to carry on with this as the story develops. Your comments always make me so happy to please do leave some, thank you for reading!


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we begin the journey back to Paris, this is a longer chapter so I hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave comments and suggestions, they are lovely and help me through each chapter!

‘Louis, I insist, please just take the carriage back,’ the Duke of Marseille insisted. The musketeers had been uncomfortable with the idea of the King riding back to Paris on horseback, but the King was characteristically stubborn in his wish to do so.

‘I couldn’t take it from you, my musketeers will accompany me and protect me.’ He spoke with pride as an ensemble of men stood behind him, yet Treville’s face still bore a stony expression.

‘Sire, the carriage would be wise,’ he countered. ‘It would ensure your safety, and allow Aramis a place to rest if he falls ill on the return to Paris.’ It was Aramis’ turn to wear the stony expression now as he felt his cheeks redden, his weakness had been played on ever since he had shared the King’s words of concern for him in his room. However, the burning ache that coated his bones forced Aramis to keep his mouth shut and refrain from objecting Treville’s reasoning. Despite the recovery from his fever, two days in captivity and torture really was beginning to take its toll.

‘He is right, sire,’ Porthos agreed. This hardly surprised Aramis, Porthos had been mollycoddling him ever since they had found him having never left his bedside except from the occasions where Athos or d’Artagnan had to physically drag him away. 

‘If you’re sure,’ the King sighed. ‘I will admit it will make for a more comfortable journey back to Paris.’

‘Very good, sire.’ Treville agreed quickly. ‘We will leave within the hour.’ He bowed before leaving the room and making the preparations, demanding Athos, d’Artagnan and the rest of the men assist him. Unsurprisingly that left Aramis and Porthos with the King. Whilst he mostly ignored them Porthos carefully strolled over to Aramis, standing beside him for a few minutes before speaking at all.

‘You look better,’ he began casually, but there was a promise of deep conversation brewing in his tone and Aramis sighed; he really wasn’t in the mood.

‘I am,’ he just replied shortly. Porthos looked a bit taken aback at the rudeness of his friends reply but carried on regardless.

‘And you are sure you are fit to ride?’

‘Yes, Porthos, we have discussed this already,’ he exhaled. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I assure you I am fine, mon ami.’ The term of endearment quickly put Porthos at ease, however he wasn’t finished yet.

‘You can never hide your pain from me, you know that,’ he said with a fond grin, as Aramis went to argue he quickly continued. ‘Look, I know you can handle it, but just don’t let it go too far for the sake of your pride, ok?’

‘Ok,’ Aramis whispered. The small reply left Porthos taken aback, he expected Aramis to deem himself fit as a fiddle and laugh at Porthos for his worry but he didn’t think he would give in so easily. But before he could pry further Athos and d’Artagnan joined them.

‘We will be leaving soon,’ Athos stated. His voice was casual but his eyes were subtly cast over to Aramis, seeming to diagnose his every movement. The slight hunch of his brother’s posture was an immediate warning signal, however Aramis smiled back at him reassuringly with a slight shake of the head. Athos took this as a polite point to stop, but gave a small smirk as he returned his attention to d’Artagnan.

‘You have no idea how happy I am to have all of you back,’ he admitted with a grateful grin. ‘I was about to send an army out after you.’ 

‘He was that bad was he?’ Porthos asked in a hushed voice, but his laughter was evident within it.

‘You have no idea,’ he groaned. However, the rest of them couldn’t help but laugh at his exhausted expression. ‘Oh, how I Iong for Paris,’ he added whimsically. 

‘As we all do, mon ami,’ Aramis replied. He himself was counting down the minutes until he could take a bath and lay down in his own bed. But he was certain d’Artagnan’s reasons of returning were far less simple than his own. ‘Although, you wouldn’t be referring to a certain Madame Bonaceux, would you?’

‘Well,’ he began blushing, ‘it will be nice to see Constance.’

‘Of course,’ Athos smirked. ‘Now, we leave soon, gather yourselves.’ They quickly sobered from their jesting and began to prepare themselves for the journey home. 

\---

They had bid farewell to the Duke of Marseille and began their journey just before midday; as they rode the sun was streaking through the trees light spotlights. But the sun was burning brightly and therefore a terrible heat had settled upon the party as the travelled. The humidity was unbearable as the thick and sticky air seemed to drag them down, but the worst was the King; he had found yet another reason to moan.

‘Treville!’ he called, stopping procession once again. ‘Please, I need to get out again, this carriage is stifling.’

‘Sire, if we carry on like this we will never return to Paris,’ he argued.

‘We need to stop anyway,’ the King replied petulantly. ‘Besides, I am the King, if I want to stop we stop.’

‘Your majesty,’ Treville replied with a bow. As the King exited the carriage the rest of the musketeers echoed Treville’s actions and bowed upon their horses. However, a rustle caught Treville’s eye, Aramis was wobbling on his saddle; the small act of the bow leaving him slumped against the neck of his mare. He slumped back into a seated position, but the effort it took was obvious and his browed creased in discomfort. The sheen on sweat across his brow would have caused Treville concern if they didn’t all have the same in the excruciating heat, their thick leather uniforms doing them no favours, but he suddenly realised Aramis’ skin was paler than the rest of his men, hands shaking as he gripped the reins. 

‘Aramis,’ he called, gesturing the man over. 

‘Captain?’ Aramis answered, his horse trotting over slowly.

‘Don’t lie to me, are you fit to continue?’ he asked quickly. Aramis’ eyebrows rose with the suddenness of the question.

‘Of course, the heat is taking a bit out of me along with everyone,’ he replied defensively. Treville looked sceptical but he just nodded, making a mental note to check him over when they stop for the night. 

‘Right, lets carry on,’ the King shouted, interrupting Treville’s thoughts. He begrudgingly got back in the carriage, and the procession continued on through the forest. 

\---

They eventually had to stop riding when the light began to diminish from the sky and only a golden line lay upon the horizon, leaving a chill in the air compared to the burning heat that had assaulted them throughout the day. Upon reaching a clearing, the carriage was stopped and the King’s tent put up. It was a bright, clean white compared to the dark and dirty forest that surrounded it, yet it still seemed to impose upon everything with an aura of royalty. A fire was soon lit, and the bed rolls set out for the musketeers.

‘How long until we reach Paris?’ the King enquired as Treville entered his tent. 

‘Most of tomorrow I would guess,’ he replied. ‘However, it may be cooler tomorrow, and we could make a faster pace.’ 

‘Perfect,’ he grinned. ‘A watch will be stationed outside my tent all night, yes?’ His eyes were expectant, as though he didn’t even need to ask.

‘Of course, sire,’ Treville replied, proving him right. ‘Dinner is being prepared and will be brought to you.’

‘Thank you Treville, you are excused.’ He smiled and bowed before backing out the tent, he had only one more thing to check before dinner and rest: Aramis. The man in question was sat upon a rock away from the rest of the men, his stature hunched. However, there was something else; his movements were skittish and his eyes seemed to be darting around the clearing nervously. Treville sighed sadly, recognising Aramis’ actions immediately. The shock of his ordeal was still very much fresh as the all too familiar surroundings of the forest brought back the emotions of last week. Despite the physical recovery Aramis had made, Treville now realised he needed to make a mental recovery as well. Tentatively he sat beside the trembling man.

‘Captain,’ Aramis greeted him, after starting at the sudden presence beside him. 

‘You seem nervous, son,’ Treville began. ‘Although, I can understand why.’

‘I am not nervous,’ Aramis argued, but Treville just gave a sympathetic smile.

‘You’re shaking, Aramis, calm down,’ he soothed. ‘We’re quite safe here.’

‘I know that,’ he snapped back. ‘Please, I would rather not discuss this now.’

‘You either talk about it now with me or have Porthos get it out of you later,’ the Captain chided. ‘He will notice, they all will.’

‘I just feel a little on edge is all,’ he mumbled, embarrassed at his admittance. ‘How can we know we killed all of them? They may be tracking us, and we have the King,’ He spoke quickly, breathing deeply.

‘Even if they are we are musketeers, we will fight them and win,’ Treville stated, as though the fact would never be questioned. 

‘He will be vulnerable,’ Aramis countered. ‘We all will.’ 

That was when Treville really realised what was bothering Aramis. Being taken, tortured, his injuries, and being taken care of left him vulnerable and out of control. Despite the fact he was a musketeer they had still managed to catch him and truly hurt him; he had thought he was going to die.

‘It felt like Savoy,’ he whispered. ‘I know it’s silly, because this is hardly relates to Savoy at all, but all the same it brings back memories.’ Treville just sat beside him, the words shocking but understandable. 

‘It is not silly, even if the situation is different it still made you feel as you did then.’ Aramis did not look at him, instead focusing on a sprig growing through the dirty forest floor. ‘I know you don’t want to tell them but you must,’ he stated.

‘What do I tell them?’ Aramis scoffed. ‘That I’m scared to go to sleep?’ His laugh was bitter, misplaced compared to his usual warm chuckle.

‘If anything changes, Aramis,’ Treville insisted, not taking his eyes of him before he was rewarded with a curt nod. They were interrupted by d’Artagnan’s call to food, and like a moth to a flame the musketeers made their way to collect their dinner. 

‘Captain, if you could give me a hand up,’ Aramis asked quietly, ‘my ribs are still suffering from the scars they received.’ Treville smiled before helping his musketeer up, the act assuring him that Aramis will seek help if he needs it. As he ate he saw the four inseparables hunched close together, the intensity of the gazes laid upon Aramis would have been laughable if it wasn’t for such horrid reason. However, Treville was comforted that they were all willing to assist Aramis if he needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although he is recovering physically, I was sure that he would have experienced some mental or emotional effects, so decided to explore that in this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, please comment!


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment is here, thank you so much for your love for this story so far! I hope you enjoy this next installment and leave comments if you want to x

As the night fell on the musketeer’s camp Aramis lay on his bedroll with absolutely no intention of sleep. Despite the harsh pounding that had begun behind his eyes and heaviness of his exhausted limbs, he fought the tendrils of sleep that began to wrap themselves around his consciousness. He had placed himself on the edge of the sleeping group of men, allowing him some form of privacy, but to his annoyance he had felt Athos settle suspiciously close to him as the first watch began. The forest loomed over him, casting devilish shadows as the wind whispered through the dry leaves, and he shivered underneath his blankets as the heat that had fried them that very day left with the light of the sun. Murmurs of goodnights were shared as everyone began dropping off to sleep, and the deep rumble which came from the solid form of Porthos beside comforted him considerably, as well as the hand clasped firmly on his shoulder.

‘Good night, mon ami,’ he returned. However, that was just the opposite of which awaited Aramis.

The onslaught of nightmares was imminent as his eyes slowly closed, lacking the energy to fight the rest he knew he needed. Yet, they were unlike any he had had before. They included Savoy as they usually did, however as he looked down at the massacred bodies of his dead brothers they seemed to melt into the snow that surrounded them and disappear. Instead, Wolf and Bear resurfaced, climbing out of the frozen pit the bodies had disappeared into. They said nothing before slowly marching towards him. A first Aramis was confused; they were unarmed, he reached for his pistol yet found his belt empty of any weapons and his leathers missing. The cold air suddenly felt very harsh against his thin shirt and breeches. As he looked up he saw the two men were getting closer and closer, but he could not move. His feet seemed stuck to the floor and his arms rigid against his waist, still searching for the absent weapons. He now began to panic, screaming for them to back away, but they were already upon him. As their hands touched his skin it began to burn, sizzling beneath the contact and as he looked down there was bright blisters spreading across his chest and torso. The pain seemed so real and he screamed, clawing at their hands, begging them to stop.

‘Aramis!’ the call of his name distracted him slightly. He felt softer hands enclose his and pull him brashly into their arms, confusing him. ‘Aramis please, stop,’ the voice begged. Suddenly Aramis’ eyes snapped open and Athos’ face swam in front of him. 

‘Ugh,’ he groaned. ‘Athos?’

‘Are you with me?’ Athos asked, lips drawn thin in worry. 

‘Yes,’ Aramis breathed back. His eyes widened as he realised his fist was clenched around Athos’ sleeve, quickly disconnecting himself he pulled himself into a sitting position. 

‘I’m sorry, I did not realise I had disturbed you. Did I wake any others?’ He willed his voice to stay steady but he cursed himself at the waver it contained. 

‘Just Porthos and d’Artagnan,’ he replied as the two men shuffled slowly over to them. ‘Now talk to us.’

Athos,’ Aramis began to object but Porthos quickly interrupted.

‘No, Aramis, I’m pretty sure that was a nightmare, now don’t get me wrong I can’t blame you for having it after what’s happened but at least let us help you with it.’

‘You can’t!’ he snapped. ‘You don’t understand; I don’t wish to burden you with this.’

‘You don’t burden us with anything,’ d’Artagnan stated, his eyes earnest. ‘Besides, I would take any burden gladly to lessen whatever suffering you have, my friend.’ The sincerity of his statement took Aramis aback, and he suddenly felt tears prick in his eyes.

‘We all would,’ Porthos added, and Athos nodded solemnly. It was now that Aramis took Treville’s words into consideration and he felt himself slowly relax and begin to talk, the presence of his brothers acting as a blanket of safety around him. 

‘The forest stirs up bad memories, along with recent events it all seemed to merge into one horrific nightmare,’ he began. ‘But it was unlike any other nightmare I had ever had, I couldn’t move.’ He bowed his head in shame before admitting, ‘I was helpless.’

‘You are not and never will be helpless,’ Athos said. ‘Because we will always be there to help, even when you can’t help yourself.’

‘You promise, he gasped out.

‘I promise,’ Athos replied strongly, taking his hand.

‘Ok,’ Aramis stuttered out. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, what must you think of me?’

‘Nothing less than before,’ d’Artagnan replied. ‘Now, you look exhausted, it’s time for bed.’ Aramis blushed before mumbling incoherently and looking at the ground. D’Artagnan frowned, ‘what?’

‘I cannot sleep,’ he repeated.

‘Yes you can, you just don’t want to,’ Athos said with a smirk. ‘We will be here.’ As if on cue, Porthos opened up his arms in Aramis’ direction allowing room on his bedroll for him to lie down. Wordlessly he accepted the offer, scampered over and curled into the warmth of Porthos’ broad chest.

‘Wake me if you need me,’ he said ruffling the head of curls that had taken refuge just under his chin. They tickled his neck as Aramis nodded. ‘Goodnight brother,’ he rumbled before laying and arm across both of them and closing his eyes.

\---

Aramis had awoken with not only Porthos beside him, but Athos and d’Artagnan as well. He was grateful for their comfort, and it had seemed to chase any other nightmares that had threatened to ensue, but a whole night of sharing body warmth had left him overheating within the pile of musketeers. He slowly manoeuvred himself out of the tangle of limbs and greeted the fresh with a deep breath.

‘Good morning, Aramis,’ a voice greeted him. He started but was met with the smirk of Treville perching on a rock, finishing the night’s watch. 

‘Captain,’ he smiled back. They didn’t speak of the puppy pile he had just emerged from, but began the morning chores. The fire was lit and Aramis began preparing breakfast, allowing the wafting smell of food to infiltrate the slumber of his fellow musketeers and draw them into awareness. Slowly a circle had formed around the fire as they wielded their wooden bowls and spoons. Aramis sat himself down beside Athos after dishing up the food.

‘You awoke early?’ he spoke casually but Aramis heard the disguised tone of worry.

‘Quite peacefully I promise you,’ he replied. ‘The heat created by all of you was rather stifling, I must say.’ Athos seemed happy with his answer as they carried on eating in a comfortable silence. 

‘Men!’ Treville called, gathering the musketeers close. ‘We are aiming to return to Paris today, as the weather seems to permit it. Aramis, I want you up front with d’Artagnan, Porthos and Athos follow behind in front of the royal carriage whilst Durand and Jacques follow behind it. I will take the rear.’ They all murmured in agreement of the plans and began packing their saddle bags and clearing the camp. The King emerged from his tent looking rather dishevelled from the night in the wilderness and snapped childishly at Treville as he enquired how his majesty slept, before promptly locking himself in his carriage. 

‘To Paris,’ Treville called, signalling Aramis and d’Artagnan to begin riding. However, he was a little surprised at the cheer that was let out by the two leading men as they urged their horses on. He began to reprimand them for their childish behaviour, but the smile that graced Aramis’ features as he conversed with the gascon was so encouraging considering his state yesterday that he just smiled slightly before focusing on the job at hand. 

\---

To say Aramis was looking forward to resting in his own quarters was an understatement. Upon reaching the Garrison he was almost leaping of his horse to escape from the saddle he had been stuck upon all day. The conversion with d’Artagnan had been light and enjoyable, but the final hours of riding had been spent in quiet concentration as they focused on their jobs whilst longing for Paris to finally come into sight upon the horizon.

‘Aramis my boy, how do you fare?’ Serge was exiting the kitchens when he saw the men ride through the arch and into the courtyard. He had heard the news of Aramis before Treville had left and was deeply worried for the man. 

‘I am quite well, Serge,’ Aramis replied with a smile as he dismounted. He went to join the man at the table when a shadowed figure under the arch caught his eye. The other, bust with dismounting and sorting their horses, bustled around him but Aramis continued to stand stock still as the figure walked slowly into the light. Rochefort’s eyes were dark and full of hatred, yet his face sported a smile.

‘Monsieur Aramis,’ he greeted. ‘I heard of your adventures on the way to Marseille.’

‘How, may I ask,’ he replied, feeling the presence of his brothers behind him quickly.

‘Word travels fast around Paris, especially when the King’s involved.’

‘If you’ve heard then you’ll know he needs to rest,’ Porthos interrupted, voice cold and controlled. ‘Excuse us,’ with that he took Aramis’ arm and guided him up the stairs and too his quarters. ‘The bloody cheek of him, coming down here,’ Porthos fumed.

‘He is simply covering his tracks, how is he to know we have found out his secret,’ Aramis said.

‘Yeah well, he’d better be looking behind him from now on because there is no way he’s getting away with what he did to you.’

‘Thank you, mon ami,’ Aramis smiled tiredly at his friends fierce loyalty. ‘But I think that is an issue for tomorrow, as for now, we sleep.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't resist a little bit more fluff between the boys! The next part of the story will be based in Paris and include Rochefort a lot more, but will still be focused on our boys and include a fair amount more whump and angst ;)
> 
> Please leave comments or suggestions I love them so much! Thank you for reading x


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from Marseille Rochefort plots against the musketeers, but who will prevail?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Hope you enjoy, please leave comments and suggestions as they help me a lot when writing, and brighten up my day!

Rochefort stalked away from the garrison with the musketeers’ eyes trained on him as he went. His bones felt as if they were boiling as anger brewed deep inside of him at their presence; they had evaded him once again.

‘Rochefort,’ a voice snarled. As he looked up from his musings he was face to face with the stony face of Treville. ‘What are you doing here?’ 

‘I was simply checking to see how your musketeers fared after their excursion, I have heard all about it from the King and was intrigued as to their wellbeing,’ he lied. However, Treville continued to stare suspiciously at him, distrust obvious in his features.

‘They fare fine, thank you,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t doubt the King will be missing you already, as close as you both have become.’ The accusatory statement took Rochefort aback, panic bloomed in his gut as he began to think the worst. However, he quickly calmed himself, they couldn’t know of his position as a Spanish spy. 

‘Indeed,’ he replied before leaving with a small nod. As he strode through the Parisian streets the tall building seemed to mould a path for him. It was then that he decided his own path: it was time to act now. If he was to overthrow the King and take the throne with Spain the musketeers needed to die, simple as that. 

‘If I am to kill them I shall begin by weeding out the weak,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Aramis lies wounded and the perfect target, and where he goes the rest shall follow.’ He smiled maliciously as the sunset shone a blood red before him, swathing him in a murderous glow.

\---

Aramis woke to his door swinging open, the light silhouetting a figure in the doorway. He grabbed for his weapon before the figures face was illuminated and Athos looked upon him. 

‘Morning,’ he smirked as Aramis relaxed back into his bed. However, he jumped as another voice rumbled beside him. 

‘Morning,’ Porthos replied as he emerged from a chair by his bed as he stretched. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked immediately, turning to the bed.

‘I am fine, but what about yourself?’ Aramis asked worriedly. ‘I cannot imagine the chair allowed you a decent night sleep.’

‘Ah, I slept like a baby,’ Porthos dismissed him quickly, however the stiffness was obvious in is joints as he made his way over to Athos.

‘You didn’t need to stay,’ he said quietly.

‘Maybe not, but I did.’ Aramis smiled slightly before pulling himself out of bed and dressing himself alongside Porthos. As they left the lodgings they were greeted by d’Artagnan, and they all made their way to morning muster. However, before Treville could assign them orders a young boy stumbled into the courtyard. He wore the robes of a palace servant and held a letter in his clenched hand. 

‘Can I help you, son?’ Treville asked, confusion gracing his gentle tone.

‘I have been sent to fetch the musketeers Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan, monsieur.’ He spoke breathlessly as if he had just run a great distance. ‘The King wishes to see them and thank them personally for their help during the incident in Marseille.’ 

‘Well, off you go then’ Treville said with a smirk. ‘Report to me as soon as you are finished.’

‘Of course,’ Athos replied, before leading the four men away behind the young boy.

‘The King is very grateful for your help, monsieur’s,’ the boy continued as he guided them through the corridors of the Louvre. ‘The Queen also, she is grateful for you returning her husband to her.’ At the mention of the Queen Aramis seemed to stiffen, his eyes met Athos’ but only for a moment before he composed himself and carried on into the lavish room in which the King waited for them. However, they missed Porthos’ surprised glance upon finding his brother look so suddenly pale and pensive. Before he could question them the door were swung open and the King greeted them, arms open.

‘Ah, my loyal musketeers,’ he greeted with a wide smile.

‘Your majesty,’ Athos greeted, bowing alongside his brothers. ‘How can we be of help?’

‘Of help?’ he echoed. ‘You have helped me quite enough recently I assure you, I just wished to know if you are all well. Aramis?’

‘I am perfectly recovered, sire,’ Aramis smiled, taken aback slightly. 

‘Oh I am glad, for I couldn’t have my best musketeers injured now, could I?’ He smiled before his eyes darkened. ‘I was meant to have the red guard assist me, whatever would have happened if they had I do not wish to know.’

‘Nor I, sire,’ d’Artagnan agreed, thinking back to his initial reluctance to take the mission.

‘I’ve told Rochefort time and time again my musketeers are far better than his guards, we proved it not long ago, last year was it?’ he pondered.

‘Yes sire, a year last month,’ d’Artagnan confirmed, his eyes were bright as he revisited the memory of his commission. 

‘Yes well, Rochefort blames that defeat on the Cardinal, bless his soul, but I gave assured him my musketeers are unbeatable.’ He spoke slowly and looked up at them a little sheepishly. ‘However, he demanded another competition and I had no choice to accept, you will partake won’t you?’

‘Of course, sire, we would be honoured,’ Aramis replied with a bow.

‘Oh how wonderful,’ he exclaimed clapping his hands together. ‘There will be no entrance fee this time, just talent. It is to take place in this coming Friday, I shall see you all there, you are dismissed.’ They all bowed before retreating out of the room as the doors closed.

‘Another competition,’ Athos groaned. ‘And in only three days.’

‘Well at least we don’t have to pay this time because I’m running low,’ Porthos countered with a shrug. They all made to leave before they heard delicate footsteps coming quickly down the corridor.

‘Wait,’ came a clear voice and suddenly the Queen rounded the corner, flushed slightly from rushing. 

‘Your majesty?’ Porthos questioned as he bowed once again alongside his friends.

‘I also wished to thank you all,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I was terrified of what could have happened, not only to my husband and King, but also to the father of my child.’ She looked at Aramis them, concern filling her features. They held the stare before Athos interrupted brashly, shaking Aramis out of his daze.

‘It was our pleasure, your majesty, but if you must excuse us we must return to our duties.’

‘Of course, good bye,’ she stood where she was as they walked away, focusing solely on Aramis until she could see them no more. With a sigh she walked back to her chambers, her mind filled with thoughts of the love she could never have.

\---

‘What was that?’ Porthos demanded as they neared the garrison.

‘What was what?’ Aramis countered, his voice already suspiciously defensive.

‘You know what,’ he growled.

‘Porthos,’ Athos began, but he was interrupted.

‘No, you know something, the both of you do and you’re not telling us,’ he snapped, referencing to d’Artagnan. 

‘Brother, please, not here,’ Aramis whispered, suddenly aware of the busy street they were making their way down. Porthos looked a little taken aback at the sudden seriousness in Aramis’ tone but dropped the subject quickly. As they approached the courtyard they could see Treville awaiting, however as he went to give them their orders he was stopped by a slight shake of Athos’ head. He simply just lay a hand on his arm and guided him back up to his office, where the rest of their party followed. The door shut with a resounding bang and a thick silence settled in the room.

‘Would anyone care to inform me what this is about,’ he asked. ‘We have a job to do, you know.’

‘It is not I who needs to speak,’ Athos replied. He slowly moved aside to let Aramis stand in front of the men. However, he just stood there, his hair shielding his face from the inquisitive stares laid upon him. ‘Aramis,’ Athos warned.

‘Fine,’ he snapped back, and slowly looked up. ‘I have something to share, however I fear you may not approve,’ he began carefully.

‘When do we ever,’ Porthos barked with a chuckle.

‘Yes, well, this is a tad more severe,’ he said regrettably. ‘I, uh, I may have, um-’

‘He slept with the Queen,’ Athos said suddenly and plainly from beside him. There was a stunned silence before Treville lowered his head into his hands.

‘Tell me you didn’t,’ he said weakly, almost pleading.

‘I cannot, I am sorry Captain it just-’

‘You fool,’ he roared. ‘Do you have any ideas of the consequences this could bring.’

‘It has already brought consequences,’ Athos added, looking expectantly towards Aramis.

‘The Dauphin is my son,’ he admitted.

‘Your son?’ d’Artagnan echoed in disbelief.

‘When,’ Porthos growled, he had been silent up until this point and the suddenness of is voice made Aramis jump.

‘In the convent last year,’ he replied quietly. ‘But, listen to me, we were both vulnerable she was scared and-’ 

‘Vulnerable?’ Porthos scoffed. ‘Don’t make excuses Aramis, you just wanted to get in bed with her.’

‘Isabelle had just died!’ Aramis roared back.

‘Isabelle?’ Athos questioned, the news new to him.

‘You would know her as Sister Helen, however that was not her real name,’ he sighed. ‘We were to be married when I was just sixteen, and she was carrying my baby. However, she suffered a miscarriage and her father took the opportunity to send her away and never return. I hadn’t seen her again until then.’

‘Oh, Aramis I’m sorry,’ d’Artagnan breathed. The news had shocked everyone standing in the room, yet Treville still looked sceptical.

‘And how did that lead you to bed with the Queen, may I enquire?’

‘I was guarding her bed chamber, but I was upset, all I could think of was Isabelle,’ he closed his eyes, remembering the all-encompassing pain he had felt. ‘She came to me and comforted me, and before I knew it,’ he trailed off and sat heavily upon a chair supplied for him by Athos.

‘There is more,’ Athos said, prompting Aramis again.

‘I think Rochefort knows,’ he croaked. ‘He is a Spanish spy and sent the men after us, they mentioned it.’ Treville sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

‘I will investigate Rochefort,’ he said, ‘if we find proof it will be the end of him. But for now, you are all dismissed for the day, sort this out between yourselves. Out, all of you.’

‘Captain,’ Athos said with a nod, and he quickly herded them all out of the office. The day had grown colder since they entered the office, mirroring the frostiness that laced Porthos’ features as he watched Aramis walking ahead of him. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, leading them to his lodgings. As they entered the room was shadowed and dank, however after lighting the fire a warm glow was cast upon them and the small table and chairs looked cosy and inviting.

‘Sit,’ he motioned to them, and they followed his instructions by setting themselves down. He grabbed some glasses and a bottle of wine before sitting down himself and sharing the liquid out. Aramis said nothing as he downed his glass, self-hatred brewing dangerously in his eyes. ‘No, Aramis, now is not the time,’ Athos said, placing his hand on the Spaniards arm. They sat in silence for a while before Porthos spoke.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ his voice sounded angry, but when Aramis looked at his face he found his friend features were sad.

‘I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t burden you with this knowledge. What is someone found out and accused me? You would be in trouble too,’ he said earnestly. ‘You hate me,’ he fisted his hair dejectedly in his hands, fearing to look at his friend.

‘No,’ he replied, sliding his hand over to his brothers and clasping it warmly on his own. ‘You must have loved her,’ he pried slowly. Aramis didn’t look up, but held on tighter to Porthos’ hand.

‘I was so happy,’ he said, the tears muffled by his arm which he was leaned upon. ‘I was so excited to be a father, and a husband. I had not felt anything like I had with her before.’ Porthos just held onto him tighter as he began choking on the tears that were clogging his throat. It was hard to be angry at Aramis for what he did, because he fell in love so easily. People thought he just slept with people for the pleasure of it and abandoned them after, but that was wrong. Aramis loved every single one, and treated them with the affection they deserved. He did the same with his friendships; he would do anything for Athos, d’Artagnan or Porthos and had shown this in the past. 

‘Come on,’ Athos said, ‘you look exhausted, are you sure your injuries are not bothering you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Aramis replied, wiping his face on his sleeve as Porthos slung his arm around him. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled into the dark leather.

‘There is nothing to be sorry for,’ he replied, heaving the man up. With the help of d’Artagnan they guided him over to Athos’ bed which had been prepared. ‘Now sleep for a bit, you’ll need to be fit for the King’s competition if you are to shoot straight.’

‘I always shoot straight,’ he mumbled indignantly into his pillow. Porthos grinned before stroking Aramis’ hair as he closed his eyes. Despite the card game Athos and d’Artagnan were beginning Porthos stayed beside his snoozing brother. This was not only because he wished to look over him and fight any nightmares which plagued him by his side, but also as Aramis had grabbed hold of his coat in his sleep, and experience told him that nothing would prize him out of Aramis’ iron grip.

‘Of course you do my friend,’ he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they all know about Aramis and the Queen now. However, how will they all fare in the competition? Find out in the next chapter! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	10. Interval

Sorry for this long break, I lost my bearings a bit with this story.

I am working on more chapters but I'm a bit overloaded with school work in the new term and it may take me longer to write and upload chapters.

I have every intention of finishing this story but it may take a little bit longer!

Thank you so much to everyone who commented and kept up with this story, it really made me smile and kept me going. So I am finishing this for you!

I hope you enjoy the rest, a new chapter should be up in a few days and i'm planning to do weekly updates rather than daily x


	11. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to get the next chapter finished, sorry for the long wait!  
> I hope you enjoy it and forgive me for my lack of updates x

The bullet ripped straight through the bullseye and Aramis looked up with a satisfied smirk, beside him Porthos’ shot went wide with the wind causing him to grumble dejectedly.

'You’re almost there my friend,’ Aramis encouraged, ‘you just have to take the wind into consideration and you’ll get it spot on.’

‘Yeah,’ he murmured back, but he slotted his pistol back into its holder. ‘Enough of that, I think it’s brawling next, isn’t it?’ His frown had now formed into a confident grin as they made their way over to the middle of the courtyard. 

‘Indeed it is,’ Aramis replied, his smirk now gone. He had proved that he could hold his own in hand to hand combat, but it was hardly enjoyable. He was built for dashing sword fights rather than brutal wrestling matches. 

‘I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry,’ Porthos smiled, seeing the unease on his friend’s face. Aramis gave an aggressive grunt in reply as he stripped himself of his leathers alongside Porthos.

‘I can handle it,’ he replied shortly, throwing him jacket down. The thud it made resounded through the courtyard, settling a quiet on all who stood within it. The grin left Porthos’ face and he began to look worriedly at his brother.

‘You don’t have to do this you know, if you still feel hurt,’ he said slowly. In all truthfulness Porthos really didn’t want to fight Aramis, they had never got against each other in hand to hand combat and he didn’t intend for them to start now.

‘I am not some damsel, Porthos,’ Aramis snapped back.

‘I’m not saying you are,’ he replied carefully. ‘But do you really need to qualify for this event? You are already included in shooting and duelling; must you brawl as well?’

‘I must at least try.’ However, he was cut off as a sharp crack echoed around the courtyard. Aramis heard a screeching whistle shoot past his ear and immediately drew his pistol, he aimed quickly at where he thought the shot had come from but all he saw was an empty window. 

‘What was that?’ cried Treville, emerging from his office. It was silent before a cry jolted all of them out of their senses. Aramis spun around to see a stable boy clutching his side, tears of fear and panic seeping from his eyes as blood oozed from beneath his hands. Aramis shook himself before sprinting over to the boy and catching him before he collapsed to the ground.

‘Athos, grab me my medical back,’ he shouted, quickly placing his hands upon the wound. ‘Ok, look at me.’ He whispered, taking the boy’s face in his other hand tenderly.

‘It hurts,’ he whispered back, eyes blinking shut.

‘No, look at me, what’s your name?’ Aramis asked quickly, panic bubbling in his gut.

‘Bernard,’ he replied. 

‘Ok, Bernard, just breath. I’m here, ok.’ The boy just nodded, the action seemed to jolt his body though and more tears leaking from his eyes. Before Aramis could wipe them away Athos returned with his medical bag.

‘Here, how bad is it?’ he enquired, looking down at the two men on the ground.

‘I don’t know, just give me some space,’ he snapped, taking Athos aback. ‘Prepare a table in the garrison, we need a flat surface, the ball is still in there.’ A flurry of movement surrounded him as both Athos and Porthos helped him carry Bernard to the table. 

‘I got you water and wine,’ d’Artagnan said, placing a bowl, bottle and rag beside him.

‘Thank you, my friend.’ He quickly dumped all his instruments in the water before pouring wine over the wound.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled as Bernard writhed from the sting of the alcohol. He worked for a while trying to retract the musket ball, finally resorting to his fingers in order to get it out. But with it came a torrent of blood. 

‘Shit,’ he whispered to himself as he clamped the rag down upon it. He knew from this that Bernard was dead; years’ worth of battlefield medicine had taught him that an artery had been hit and he would bleed out within minutes.

‘Aramis,’ a small voice said, ‘what’s wrong?’ Wide eyes looked up at him and he could see fear slowly infiltrating Bernard’s features.

‘Nothing,’ he replied, keeping up a façade of hope for the poor boy. ‘Needle and thread,’ he called to those behind him, but the words felt heavy in his throat for he knew he would not need to use them. As the needle was prepared Bernard’s face lost colour and his breathing became laboured, his eyes began to grow heavy and Aramis took his hand and leant close to his ear. He whispered a prayer to him, nothing traditional, just a prayer he had often said with his mother and still used himself when needing comfort. When he had finished he looked into Bernard’s empty eyes and hung his head. 

‘Aramis?’

‘No,’ he quietly. There was silence in the courtyard for a moment before the cries of a women filled the air. 

‘Oh god,’ Treville said, quickly jolting himself out of his thoughts. ‘Madame, please stay back.’

‘Where is my son,’ demanded a deep male voice. His father.

‘Monsieur, I’m so sorry,’ he began but a wail drowned him out.

‘Please,’ his father said slowly, ‘where is he?’ 

‘Here,’ Treville replied. 

Aramis felt numb as he was half pulled half guided up from his spot by Bernard’s side. He felt his parents brush past him and fall to the ground where he had just been, their knees now stained by the same blood that stained his own. He suddenly felt dirty. The sweat on his skin and the smell of blood seemed to choke him; he needed to get it off and obliterate any evidence of this moment. Without looking at anyone he stalked away to his quarters, oblivious to the calls after him. 

As he weaved through the Parisian streets he took into account the shrill ringing that seemed to be overpowering his senses. As if to wipe the sound away he began to rub viciously at his ears, yet he still suffered the insistent ringing. It was this that reminded him how close that bullet had come to hitting him, without the force of the wind to guide it astray he would be a dead man. It was then that the situation truly hit him, the bullet would have hit him, therefore the bullet was aiming for him. Someone had tried to kill him. He stopped dead in his tracks and was engulfed by a cold dread. However, it was not the threat of death that had pulled him up so short, but the image of Bernard's pleading eyes; he would not be dead if it were not for Aramis.

'Aramis!' called a voice from behind him, it sounded like Athos but Aramis was not sure for the ringing had become overwhelming and he was finding it hard to breath properly. 'Aramis, what is go- are you OK?' Athos questioned suddenly upon noticing his ashen pallor and hunched stance.

''Ugh,' Aramis grunted through his constricted throat, reaching out to Athos. 'I did this,' he grunted.

'What?' Athos asked incredulously. 'How could you possibly do this?'

'They were aiming for me, Athos!' he shouted hoarsely. 'But the wind, it made them miss and hit Bernard. It's all my - it's all my fault.' The guilt was spreading inside him like icy tendrils, coiling themselves around his throat and squeezing, as if demanding attention. Aramis had barely known Bernard, just a passing face in a busy courtyard, but now he seemed to stand out in all his memories. He had looked after his horse a lot, complimented him on the fine mare, yet Aramis had never inquired his name to thank him. And now he was gone, just like that.

'No, Aramis,' he said slowly. 'They did this, not you. Do you understand?' Aramis just continued to stare at the ground, as if an answer could be found within the dirt. 'Let's go,' he muttered once Aramis' breathing had finally evened out.

They returned to his lodging's in silence, the whistling of the wind harmonizing with the soft remnants of the ringing in Aramis' ears. They sat silently at the fragile table and drained the few bottles of wine Aramis had stored at his apartment. Slowly, Porthos and d'Aragnan turned up at the doorstep and filled an empty seat. Together they mourned a boy they never knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a more melancholy tone.  
> I will be continuing onto the competition in the next few chapters, thanks for reading! x


	12. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this will be the penultimate chapter of this story. I hope you enjoy it, please comment and give any advice for the final chapter if you want to!

The four inseparables stood in line among their fellow musketeers, backs straight as Treville stood before them. They stood in a small arena similar to that used last year’s competition, sand beneath their feet and a wooden fence trapping them in with a platform for the King and Queen, and a stand for the invited nobles. The wine still weighed upon their guts, however they were prepared for the oncoming battle that the red guards posed them. The Guards themselves stood before them, assembled as themselves but with Rochefort in the place of Treville. There was a rumble of conversation as the esteemed guests sat in the stands, however it quickly quietened as the King rose from his chair.

‘Guests, welcome,’ he greeted. ‘Musketeers and Red Guards, are you ready to fight for your regiment?’ They all bowed, and Louis gave a childlike smile. ‘Well then, let’s get started, to the shooting!’ A line of targets was assembled by the palace servants as the participants were announced.

‘For the Red Guards, Guillaume,’ Rochefort announced and a small man stepped forward. The musket in his hands seemed to overpower his slim build, creating an aura of weakness. Aramis smirked at his opponent as a smattering of weak applause met him.

‘For the Musketeers, Aramis,’ Treville echoed. Aramis however held his musket sturdily in front of him, bowing to the King as a more enthusiastic applause met him. Aramis was clapped on the back by Treville as he stood up to his mark and prepared to shoot, a hush was cast over the audience and he felt himself relax into the familiar weight of his musket. He saw his opponent mirror him. 

‘Soldiers ready,’ Treville called. ‘Shoot.’ The sound of two muskets firing rang through the grounds, and queued an applause from the audience. However, as the smoke from their shots cleared there was a roar from the Musketeers as Aramis’ target was revealed with a neat hole through the centre. He endured many encouraging hits to his shoulder, which admittedly did still twinge slightly, as he took his place back in line. Durand also shot for the Musketeer regiment and prospered over Auguste of the Red Guards.

‘Wonderful, two victories for the Musketeers so far,’ the King exclaimed with a wide smile. ‘On to brawling.’ Porthos was announced for the musketeers, however the applause meant nothing to him as faced off with his opponent from the Red Guards. Melion was an ugly brute of man, at least a head higher than Porthos, with very little neck and the build of an ox. Yet, his eyes were dazed and empty compared to Porthos’ sharp gaze. 

‘No gouging, biting or weapons,’ Treville shouted as he stood between the two men, Porthos crouched down low. ‘Soldiers ready, fight!’ As the word was called Porthos jumped into action, giving himself a firm grip on his opponent as to allow himself the advantage. In retaliation, Melion roared and threw himself forward, unhinging Porthos’ grasp. However, Porthos quickly dodged out of his path and shoved him from behind, causing the giant of a man to fall forward with a thud. 

‘Yes, Porthos!’ Aramis shouted from the side, clapping hard at his friend’s small victory. However, Melion heaved himself up and grabbed Porthos arm before throwing him harshly onto the ground, he hit hard but quickly jumped up, his actions a lot faster than his opponent’s. 

‘Get him,’ d’Artagnan growled, his hands jumping in want to help his brother. Melion went to lunge for Porthos again, but once more was outsmarted as the musketeer crouched low and threw himself at the man’s legs. Melion hit the ground a second time, however this time much harder than the first, and Porthos took advantage immediately by pouncing upon him through the big man’s randomly thrown out punches. They struggled for a while, both of them being hit and regaining their feet a couple of times, but eventually Porthos heaved the man from the ground and threw him down like a rag doll where he stayed. As Melion and hit the ground the Musketeers exploded in victory as they had done with Aramis, however they refrained from hitting Porthos encouragingly at the sight of purple blooming on his cheekbone.

‘Well done, my friend,’ Aramis greeted him with a grin and quickly sat him down on the chair supplied for him. ‘Took a while, but you beat him.’

‘A while,’ he protested indignantly. ‘I’d like to see you up against that giant!’ Porthos continued to grumble but he trailed off as Ribault had begun his brawl with another giant from the Red Guards, and seemed to be losing. The whole regiment let out a groan as he was slammed to the ground with a resounding crunch. 

‘One victory to the Red Guards, I think,’ Rochefort said with a smirk, but his eyes were cold. 

‘Yes well,’ the King huffed. ‘Onto our final event, duelling.’ Athos and d’Artagnan stepped forward together, clasping each other supportively. ‘I do believe that for a chance of winning both your participants have to triumph,’ the King said innocently, though he looked at his duellers with confidence. 

‘I am aware, sire,’ he replied frostily. ‘My men are more than a match for yours.’ However, Athos and d’Artagnan disarmed their opponents in record time, ending their fights with elegant swishes of their swords. 

‘Well, I think that settles it once and for all, Rochefort. The Musketeer regiment are the champions,’ the King said, a childish grin blooming on his face. Leading the rest of the nobles in applause, he went and shook the hands of the victors. Slowly the stands began to empty and the soldiers return to their duties, but as he made his way back to the Garrison, Aramis felt himself pulled roughly round a corner and into an empty room. As he went to cry out a sweaty hand was shoved over his mouth, and a constricting arm wound round his neck.

‘Shh, Aramis,’ came the snake like whisper of Rochefort in his ear. ‘We don’t want any visitors.’ Aramis could almost hear the smile to his voice, he tried to kick out at his attacker or reach for his musket or sword but his breath was slowly running out and his head was swimming. ‘I almost had you, I was so close.’ He began to loosen his grip on Aramis, allowing a desperate thread of air to enter his lungs, but it was replaced with two stronger pairs of hands who immediately stripped him of his weapons. However, a voice outside in the corridor stilled them all.

‘Aramis?’ Porthos called out as he searched for his friend, he had meant to have met him at the Garrison but had not returned. Aramis shouted out against the hand again, and kicked out against the door weakly as the pressure returned around his neck. To his relief his boot met the wood and created a booming echo through the large room. ‘Aramis?’ Porthos called again, a questioning tone in his voice now.

‘Porthos!’ Aramis tried to call out, but it just sounded like a wounded animal as his air pipe was crushed. Suddenly the door burst open and the sight of Porthos made Aramis droop in relief, he shoved one man off him in the direction of Porthos before throwing a desperate punch at the other who still held him, but he was shocked to receive the blade of a sword slicing through his sleeve and into his arm as his weapons were still left on the ground. He quickly began backing up to where his pistol lay on the ground, desperately trying to catch his breath, to have it picked up and aimed at his throat. Rochefort stood before him, insanity swimming in his eyes.

‘Prepare to die, Aramis,’ he whispered. But before he could squeeze the trigger another gun shot rang out and Rochefort clasped his arm where blood began to flood out. D’Artagnan stood by the door way, a pistol smoking in his hands. He quickly drew his sword and disarmed the man Aramis had been battling whilst Porthos finished his own. They all stood together for a moment in silence, taking in the dramatic events of so short a time. It was only Rochefort’s pained groans that brought them out of their shock.

‘Get up, now,’ Porthos growled, taking him by his injured arm. They dragged him up and immediately ran into Athos who was sprinting down the corridor towards them.

‘What on earth happened?’ he demanded as he smoothed down his windswept hair. 

‘This monster tried to kill Aramis,’ Porthos growled, giving Rochefort a rough shake. Athos looked down upon the man with a look of utter contempt.

‘We must take him to the King, inform him there is a traitor in our midst,’ he spoke bluntly, relishing in the flit of panic that passed Rochefort’s face.

‘No,’ he moaned. ‘If you do I will tell him about Aramis,’ he spat out.

‘What about Aramis?’ Athos replied calmly, his eyes even but cold. ‘I doubt the King will believe your petty attempt of a distraction once we have informed him of your role as a Spanish spy.’

‘No!’ he roared. ‘I am not the traitor, he is.’ He struggled towards Aramis, kicking out madly as spit flew from his lips. He seemed to have gone completely insane at that point, his hair crazed and eyes wide. ‘He stole my love; she belongs with me!’

‘Your love?’ came a croaked reply. Aramis ignored the searing pain in his throat as he began to speak. ‘That woman is the Queen of France; she belongs to no one!’ It was that moment that the King burst out of his quarters with Treville beside him. 

‘Monsieur Aramis is quite right, my wife belongs to no one,’ his nostrils flared as he looked down upon the quivering man hunched on the floor. ‘I trusted you,’ he breathed in a wavering voice. 

‘Your Highness, please,’ Rochefort begged. ‘He is guilty, I had him and was going to bring him too you-’

‘You had him?’ there was a confusion to the Kings tone, but as realisation sunk in it quickly turned to rage. ‘It was you? You chased us on the road, I was terrified! Take him away, I don’t want to see him.’ And so Rochefort was dragged away, writhing and screaming as he went about the love he never had. It sent a cold shiver down Aramis’ spine.

‘Aramis?’ came a warm voice from behind him. Porthos was weaving through the growing crowd of palace servants and guards towards him. ‘He nearly had you, eh?’

‘Yeah,’ he tried to reply, but all that came out was a pitiful mewl as his throat began to swell.

‘Alright, lets gets you looked at,’ he murmured. 

‘Take him to Lemay,’ came the clear voice of the Queen. She stood beside the King, her hands trembling slightly at her side. ‘It’s the least we can do for him; he has suffered enough for us these last few weeks.’ The men quickly bowed before being guided to Lemay’s medical quarters, Treville leading the way.

‘How is your breathing,’ Lemay asked him as the others briefed him on Aramis’ condition. He could only nod his head slightly, his voice now rendered unusable. ‘Lift your head please,’ he asked before gently probing Aramis’ neck. He hissed as the doctor’s light fingers ghosted over a particularly tender area, however mostly remained quiet through the examination. 

‘How is he?’ d’Artagnan asked, sitting on the edge of his chair.

‘There is a fair amount of swelling, but I do not believe it will obstruct his airways.’ D’Artagnan let out a breath and relaxed into the chair, whilst the other’s shoulders visibly relaxed. ‘Give him this brew every few hours and ensure he has bed rest, other than that he should recover. Just give me a moment to wrap his arm and he will be fit to return home with you.’

‘Thank you,’ Treville said, clasping Lemay’s hand. They all remained silent as Aramis’ was shed of his leathers and had his arm wrapped in a clear white bandage, finally deeming him fit to return to his lodgings. The traipse back was slow but comfortable; the reality that Rochefort had been found out and arrested seeming surreal to all of them.

‘It all happened to quickly, I just,’ d’Artagnan stuttered, ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘I don’t think any of us can,’ Treville replied. He squeezed Aramis’ arm where he supported him; he was sure Aramis was the last of them to expect what had happened today. As they reached Aramis’ lodging’s they all filed in, the silent invitation accepted by all. He stripped independently, lying down heavily on the bed in only a shirt and breeches, yet never strayed far from one of his brothers. As he lay down he was immediately joined by a warm body he could only assume was Porthos from the all too familiar heartbeat and deep breathing.

‘Just go to sleep, Aramis,’ he rumbled comfortingly. ‘We’ll be here when you wake.’ There was a murmur of assent and he closed eyes, feeling safer than he had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, stay tuned to hear the conclusion of our story! x


	13. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the King demands the Musketeers join him on a journey they run into trouble, leaving Aramis to deal with it, and in doing so runs into trouble himself. But can he rely on his brothers to get him out of it?
> 
> Set in season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've finally made it to the end, it's been a little challenging to write I have to admit, but has really helped me as a writer. I hope I've included everything that people wanted in this chapter, and I thank all of you so much for you lovely comments, it's you that has kept this story going! Enjoy!

Athos, d’Artagnan and Treville all stood together by Aramis’ bedside, deep frowns etched onto their faces. Porthos still lay beside him, but at Treville’s gesture he began to untangle himself from the sprawled form that lay on top of him. He had been sleeping for hours. And now they were being called to duty by the King, but none of them could quite bring themselves to leave. 

‘I’ll watch over him, you are all needed at the palace,’ Treville offered, but it was only met with silence as they all continued to stare at their brother’s still form.

‘I don’t want to leave him,’ Porthos rumbled, his eyes trained on the rise and fall of the mound of blankets. 

‘You must, Lemay will be here soon to check upon him,’ Treville replied firmly, yet he wished he did not have to send him away. ‘Besides, it will only be a few hours of parade and you can come right back to see him.’

‘Come, Porthos,’ Athos said as he began gathering his belongings, motioning d’Artagnan to join him. 

‘Fine,’ he grumbled. ‘But you promise I can come straight back to see him?’ he bartered sternly.

‘I promise, now go,’ he gave Athos a grateful smile as they all filed out of the dark room. Treville found the blazing sunlight that shone through the open doorway quite ironic. With the ridding of Rochefort and the saving of Aramis and the King the sunlight should be quite fitting, but here he was stood in the shadows with an injured Musketeers beside him. The sunlight seemed to strain itself as it reached the bed where Aramis lay, as if it wished to coil itself around the man and bring him some comfort. But alas, as the door swung shut and the sunlight diminished. 

\---

Aramis had been suspended in water for too long, of that he was certain. His vision was fogged by the heavy presence which was assaulting his eyeballs, but he could not bring himself to float to the surface despite the fact he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his breath forever. He heard muted sounds but lacked the energy to focus on them. It was a long time before his chest began to ache with the need for oxygen, and his lungs began to weaken. A tremor spread through his body as he realised that he needed to reach the surface but he still could not float, if anything now he seemed to be sinking deeper, the panic weighing him down and dragging him to a dark oblivion. Yet as the darkness crept into his vision the muted sounds became suddenly sharper.

‘Aramis,’ moved instinctively towards the familiarity of the sound as he tried desperately to escape his liquid prison. ‘Come on son, breath!’ Aramis desperately attempted to fulfil the request, choking on each painful gasp. Yet, he found himself miraculously breathing. A thin stream of air was wheezing through his lips, and it allowed the water to drain and his quarters to swim dizzily in front of him.

‘There we go, son,’ Treville said calmly, smoothing his hair back from his eyes. He felt heavy as he realised he had been laid on his side with his weight on his left arm. He tried to speak but his throat was raw and too swollen for a tangible sentence, moreover his tongue felt heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth. As he moved to investigate its cause of discomfort Treville guided his hand away.

‘No, Aramis, it was blocking your airway.’ The Captain’s face was stern yet soft. ‘You’re throats so swollen it didn’t take much, but you’re fine now.’ He seemed to be speaking for his own peace of mind rather than Aramis’, but the marksman didn’t complain. The man’s presence was a great comfort to him. Yet, he was missing something, suddenly he looked around wildly in search of his brothers, as the search revealed nothing but an empty room.

‘They had to go to the palace a few hours ago, they’ll be back soon,’ Treville supplied, smoothing Aramis' hair down once again in an attempt to calm him. He wordlessly began rolling Aramis onto his back once again before heaving his limp body up so he could lean against the headrest. ‘That’s better, you look more alive now.’ Aramis said nothing. His cheeks burned as he was manhandled, yet Treville seemed to understand he needed to sit up and regain control. It had been a while since Aramis had been alone with Treville he realised, they had spent a lot of time with each other over the past few years but since he had met Athos, Porthos and then d’Artagnan he realised that they had never spoken truly to each other of matters outside of the Musketeers. The last time being the incident with Marsac, but Aramis didn’t want to remember that now. 

‘Thank you,’ he croaked. 

‘It’s no problem,’ he replied, wringing his hands nervously. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘That’s all people seem to be asking me at the moment,’ he smiled weakly. As if on cue the door opened and two men walked through. Porthos grinned widely as he saw Aramis sat up, but it faltered as he took in his exhausted, trembling frame.

'How do you feel?’ Athos enquired. Treville smirked. 

‘Better, I think,’ Aramis replied, exercising his voice cautiously. 'Where is d'Artagnan?' he asked quickly as he realised his absence.

‘He is still with Madame Bonacieux,’ he said with a small grin, but other matters obviously at the fore front of his mind. ‘Rochefort still tries to incriminate you, although the King is unconvinced so far.’

‘Let’s hope he stays that way,’ Aramis replied gravely. ‘Now, when can I get out of this bed?’ he said, quickly moving away from the sombre tone of the conversation. 

‘No time soon, mon ami, I can assure you,' Porthos snorted.

‘But, I feel much better than yesterday,’ he protested, but the harsh, gravelly tone of his voice seemed to contradict his argument and he settled back into the bed. ‘Maybe  
tomorrow then?’

‘Lemay said three days at least,’ Treville countered as he set a loaf of bread on the table.

‘Ugh, I can stay in bed for three days,’ he groaned. ‘Can’t I at least practice some shooting?’

‘No,’ Athos replied bluntly. ‘Somehow you will find yourself in some form of trouble because that’s just what you do, and I truly can’t be bothered to rescue you again.’ Aramis glared at him. 

‘I do not always find trouble,’ he mumbled into his pillow indignantly. There a general snort of laughter around the room as they tucked into their bread, however, it was quickly interrupted by d'Artagnan bursting through the door.

‘Rochefort told the King,’ he stated. There was a hush over the room of fear as they all looked slowly over to Aramis. ‘But do not be alarmed, he does not believe him, he believes it just to be a ploy to free himself.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Athos said, visibly relaxing.

‘New evidence also gave us the benefit of the doubt,’ he continued, his features becoming grave. ‘He was the one who fired upon you the other day.’

‘He killed Bernard?’ Aramis spoke hoarsely into the silence. 

‘Yes, he did, but we have him,’ d'Artagnan replied with a hollow sense of hope. ‘Trying to kill you and killing Bernard will ensure his guilt, he cannot escape from this one.’

‘Ok,’ was Aramis’ only reply. For he felt empty all of a sudden, the mourning of Bernard had been overpowered by the pressure of the upcoming tournament and catastrophic events that followed, and it suddenly came back to hit him. The young face suddenly became grotesque as the features began to merge into those of Marsac, taking Aramis back to when he hadn’t been able to save another of his brothers. How many had he lost whilst serving, how many had he not been able to save? Guilt flowed uncontrollably through his veins as the image of the boy in his arms filled his mind. ‘When is his funeral, I wish to go.’

‘Aramis don’t torture yourself over this,’ Athos warned slowly.

‘Who says I am?’ he snapped. ‘I simply want to pay my respects to him and his family, is that a crime?’

‘No,’ he replied evenly, careful not to distress him more.

‘Exactly, so I will go.’

‘Well then we’ll go with you,’ Porthos cut in. ‘No argument.’

‘You don-’

‘Stop it Aramis,’ d’Artagnan interrupted. ‘We all know that you’ll argue, sulk terribly for a while, then we’ll end up coming with you anyway.’ He was leaned against the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips. 

‘Fine.’

‘Good.’

‘Great,’ Aramis growled. 

\---

Aramis’ throat healed and he returned quickly to duty, much to the King and Queens relief, and he was back at the palace the following week. 

‘Aramis!’ called out a voice, he turned as saw the luscious curls from the Kings wig bouncing lavishly on his shoulders as he walked ferociously down the corridor. ‘I heard you were back but had to see it with my own eyes.’

‘Yes sire, I am back,’ he smiled sheepishly.

‘I am much obliged; the palace feels much safer with you back in it.’ The King had smiled manically whenever he saw him for the rest of that week. He had also attended Bernard’s funeral with his brothers, but they had made the burden easier to bear by their company. 

As they sat at the table in the courtyard of the garrison, just the four of them, Aramis felt finally at peace. Rochefort was gone so his name was clear, but maybe not quite his conscience, and they were all together and safe. Bernard’s soul had been put to rest along with some of his guilt, and despite the occasional ache and pain, Paris was running smoothly again. As Serge’s mushroom soup was placed in front of him he could finally sense normalcy returning. The nickers of the horses and the bells of Notre Dame filled his ears with a calming familiarity, and as a rich red filled the horizon a deep breath of relief flooded from him. 

‘You alright ‘mis?’ Porthos asked from beside him. Aramis smiled before taking a spoonful of soup, the familiar taste warming him.

‘Yes, Pothos, I am.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, I couldn't help but do a happy ending! I hope it's alright but I couldn't quite write the awe inspiring ending that I had wanted, but it'll do.  
> I just had a couple of shout outs to those who have followed this story from the beginning, Issa, brenwan, Deana, Jmp, Lady Neve - THANK YOU SO MUCH! You have made me blush many a time from your lovely comments!  
> So, there we go, thank you for reading! xx


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